The One Million Word Project

[csyphrett]

Posted another short piece to Reddit's Library of Shadows called Instructed.

CES  

[csyphrett]

Flight of the Rocket Man

5

Saxon spent the rest of Sunday relaxing at home. He had spent some money on a
diner after picking up his car, and then settled in for the night to listen to the radio.
He had thought about going to see a movie, but had discarded the idea after thinking
about sitting in a place with a bunch of strangers.

 

He thought about just flying until he got tired. He discarded that idea because of the
refueling he would have to do after an extensive flight. He didn’t want to stuff
himself before rolling into bed and getting ready for work in the morning.

 

And he didn’t want to be around people enough to go to the local saloon, or dance
hall.

 

His camping trip had been ruined, but he had been given something in return. He
didn’t know how to use it to his advantage, but he was sure something would come
up and give him some kind of inspiration. Something always did.

 

He decided that if he wanted to keep his identity concealed, he needed a mask to
cover his face. The last thing he needed was newshounds chasing him around while
he was trying to work, or heading out from the city on his own.

 

He wanted to enjoy what he had. Becoming a celebrity would ruin that.

 

Saxon thought he could range across the Southwest with no problem, and reach into
Canada in a couple of jumps. There were some places up there unseen by humans,
where the Indian hunters didn’t go.

 

His ability meant he could camp up there, and then head south for supplies without
worrying about the weather blocking him in.

 

What would he do above the Arctic Circle? He thought he would be bored after the
first week.

 

The radio hissed. He looked at it. Naturally, it would develop a problem when his
favorite show was on. He stood. Maybe the antenna needed to be adjusted.

 

“This is Len Flynn, Kay Cee Eee ESS news,” said the radio. “Something
extraordinary is going on downtown. We’re seeing a flying ship over Los Angeles.
No one has any idea what’s going on. Fear of a Japanese attack is running high. City
government has no comment.”

 

Saxon cut off the radio. He frowned. The Mark would be on the way. What if he
doesn’t show? What if this is something serious?

 

He needed a disguise so he could look things over himself without showing his face
to the world.

 

Flanagan would love to know how someone had built a plane big enough to frighten
the city. It would help the company if they could do that.

 

If it was bad guys, and the Mark didn’t show up, something had to be done to help the
police deal with the problem.

 

And he was the only flying man around who could get close enough to take a look.

And he admitted to himself, it wouldn’t be the first time he had done something
stupid just because he could.

 

Saxon pulled on tan overalls, an old pair of boots he found in his closet, his goggles,
and a scarf to cover his face like an old bandit. He grabbed gloves last in case he had
to touch something. He didn’t want the police finding his fingerprints and holding on
to them until they figured out who he was.

 

Los Angeles should be on his map. He had been there several times for the company.
He wondered if the map would give him an address in the general area if he hadn’t
been there. He hadn’t tried that one out.

 

He decided to take it slow and easy lifting off from his neighborhood. He could pour
on the speed when he was sure he wasn’t going to break windows.

 

He activated his flight and headed straight up out of the neighborhood from his yard.
He kept the speed down so he wouldn’t cause any more booms against the windows.
When he thought he was high enough, he marked out a space for Los Angeles and
poured on the speed.

 

His arrow pointed the way to the city as he roared along.

 

He wondered how anyone could build an airship big enough to be a threat to a city.
Shouldn’t there be years of testing going on? The press should have heard of
something like this and published it.

 

He wondered what he could do when he did arrive.

 

Saxon flew over Los Angeles with plenty of time to spare on his clock. He spotted the
giant ship drifting in from the ocean. It looked like a carrier supported by some of the
biggest fans he had ever seen.

 

He couldn’t think of any way he could bring that down without hitting the center of
the city. This was definitely something for the Mark to handle.

 

He circled the flying craft. If he wanted to bring it down, he would have to take out
the rotors. Once he had done that, he could let the thing crash. If he took them out one
at a time, he could lower the thing to the ground with minimum injury to people on
the street.

 

The other way could lead to a giant explosion, certainly a high speed crash into the
local buildings.

 

The world was at war and some nutjob wanted to spread terror and misery.

 

Saxon needed something he could use to damage the rotors. Once he had that, he
could go ahead with the rest of his plan.

 

The upper deck spread apart. Machinery rose in the air. What was this about?

 

Saxon circled in closer as the machine started powering up. What did it do? Did he
want to be flying around when it activated. He had a few minutes still on the clock
if he wanted to land somewhere and wait to launch again. He heard a loud hum in the
air.

 

He flew in closer to get a look at the thing. He needed something to do damage with
if he wanted to be a hero. His hands weren’t going to cut it.

 

He felt a change in the air pressure as he flew in above the deck. He looked around.
Something had interposed between the ship and rest of the air around it. He was in
a bubble with the ship.

 

This wasn’t good at all.

 

“Citizens of Los Angeles,” said a high pitched voice in the air. “I have just cut you
off from the rest of the world with my latest invention, the Electrostatic Force Wall.
You can’t leave unless I say you can. There will be no help from anyone on the
outside of the Wall. You are at my mercy. And Doctor Rainey Sybil has no mercy. In
a few days, I am going to conduct experiments on the city’s population. Those that
survive will be allowed to leave my new home. Those that don’t will be left where
they failed the tests. That is all.”

 

Saxon hovered over the deck. He had to stop this. How did he get inside to shut the
force field off? There had to be a way.

 

He definitely should have armed himself before he came up here to look into this. A
pistol might do wonders on the machinery powering the bubble around the ship.

So how did he break it?

 

Saxon had some change in his pocket. He unzipped the coverall and reached in to get
a quarter. He threw it at the machine. It bounced away with a clink.

 

He wasn’t going to shut it down from the deck. He needed to get inside the air ship
and look for a power switch.

 

Something hit the bubble. Saxon looked around. He spotted a flying man punching
the wall around the city. He looked frustrated. It was one of the lesser Marks from the
looks of things.

 

He waved at the hero from where he stood. Then he pointed at himself and then the
ship. He floated along the deck, looking for a way inside.

 

Hopefully the junior Mark had gotten the message. If he distracted Sybil, that would
be even better.

 

Saxon couldn’t find a hatch in the deck. He checked his clock. He still had a little bit
of time. He went over the side and looked for a hatch on the side of the flying ship.
There had to be something there. How else did the guy get on deck to fix his machine
if he couldn’t lower it down inside the boat.

 

He refused to believe the ship had been built without a way to get inside.

 

He found a hatch next to a ladder leading back up to the upper deck. He grabbed on
the ladder. His power failed. He hung there for a second before getting his feet under
him.

 

He had a couple of minutes before he could use the buttons again. He needed to get
off the ladder and inside.

 

He grabbed hold of the wheel and spun it with both hands, using his feet and weight
to stay on the ladder. He exerted himself against the stubborn mechanism. Finally it
spun for him. He opened the door and slipped inside.

 

Saxon decided that the motors for the power would be at the rear of the ship. If he
could find the controls, he could shut everything down and let the Mark handle it.

Shutting down the wall would allow the hero to get inside. Could he push the carrier
away from the city? That would be the optimal solution.

 

Two metal men stepped in the corridor. They froze when they saw the intruder. They
clanked toward him with a determined stride.

 

Of course there would be some kind of security. He should have seen that coming.

Saxon decided to run the other way. They clanked behind him like mad drummers in
a jazz band. He activated two of the buttons and turned. He held up his hands and
hoped he had enough juice to knock the metal men over.

 

His vision marked out where he should hit the metal men in the legs to trip them up.
Jets formed at the ends of his fingers as he pointed at the guards. Sudden force
slammed against what would be kneecaps in normal humans. He adjusted his aim as
his markers showed him the actual impact compared to the impact he wanted.

 

The legs bent under the impact of the jets, crippling the steel sentries. They tried to
drag themselves toward the rocket man with their knobby hands.

 

He took aim and fired jets into what looked like battery packs at the small of their
backs. The rectangular boxes crushed down under the impact. Sparks shot up from
the wounds. He fired again and again until he had nearly hammered the containers
into bent up horseshoes.

 

The metal men stopped moving.

 

Saxon checked his clock before moving on. That had gone better than he had thought
it would.

[csyphrett]

Flight of the Rocket Man

6

1941-

Saxon followed the wiring and pipes down to where he wanted to go. He used his
shoot power on anything that looked like it supplied the rest of the ship. He couldn’t
tell how much of an effect he was having, but the Mark was outside. If the ship fell
toward the city, he would have to trust the hero to catch the thing and drop it where
it wouldn’t hurt anybody.

 

He ducked back as more of the metal men came out of a storage closet. He supposed
they were going to fix the sabotage he had committed. They were going to see him
first. He raised his hands and prepared to fight.

 

He was able to fire off a couple of shots before his power ran out. He looked down
at his hands. He turned and ran. He was powerless until his cooldown period passed.

The metal men chased after him as he tried to keep ahead of them. He should have
thought of keeping an eye on the clock. Now he was running.

 

Maybe he should arm himself if decided to keep doing this crazy stuff.

 

His buttons came alive. He pushed the jet buttons as he reached a corner. He nodded
as the power rolled into his hands. It was time to reverse course.

 

Saxon turned and used his visual overlay to target legs. He concentrated fire to drop
the crew in place with busted knees. He didn’t bother to go for the power packs as
they collapsed in a pile and blockaded the hall.

 

He would have to go around.

 

Saxon shook his head. He had a general idea of which way he should go. He worked
his way back around the pile up. He reached the door heading into the engine room
and paused.

 

He hoped it was the engine room.

 

He stepped across the threshold. Giant engines and dynamos spun power to feed the
rest of the ship. He could build his own company from this if he had the schematics.
The metal men drew his attention since they were charging him.

 

Saxon decided to concentrate fire on the dynamos. Shutting the power down seemed
more important than the advancing artificial men rushing him as fast as they could
move. He moved to the right to shoot around his oncoming enemies. He nodded when
the lights blinked out for a moment.

 

He had to do more damage to allow the Mark to push the thing away from the city.
It was the only way to protect the civilians from harm.

 

He fired jet after jet into the works. Several of his targets folded from the beating
without resistance. He knocked a flywheel with a belt off another engine down the
way. He shook his head at having to destroy the kind of thing his boss would cut off
a hand to work on.

 

The ship shook around him. Had he done enough damage? What did he do now? He
decided to head for the top deck and hope he hadn’t made a mistake.

 

Crashing the thing into downtown Los Angeles was a loss. He didn’t want to think
about the deaths he would cause when the thing hit.

 

He very much didn’t want to think about his death if he was still onboard when the
thing hit.

 

Saxon rushed upstairs to the deck. He took potshots at any of the metal men who tried
to get in his way. He didn’t try to wreck them. He didn’t have time for that.

 

He ran out of shooting power as he rushed up toward the main deck. He thought that
was what he needed. He didn’t need to get into another fight when he could just run
away.

 

He decided his ground surfing power was what he needed for this since his flying
power wouldn’t work that well in a confined space. He didn’t want to keep hitting the
walls while making his escape.

 

He activated the buttons and slid along the staircase. He jumped up where he thought
he wouldn’t hit anything, or could slide along the walls to avoid any impact. He
reached the door to the main deck. Had he shut the field down?

 

Saxon paused on the deck. Some of the rotors had stopped revolving. The air ship
listed to the left side. He couldn’t tell if the field was still up.

 

If the thing hit the ground, it would still wreck the city more than itself as long as the
shield was protecting the main body of the aircraft.

 

The back half of the thing broke off. He looked toward the stern. Had he done enough
damage to cause that? It blasted across the sky toward the ocean.

 

He realized that Doctor Sybil had rigged part of the aircraft for a quick escape in case
the Mark had broken through.

 

That left the bow to crash into the street.

 

He didn’t think he could stop it with his rocket power. Flying fast didn’t equate to
moving mass anywhere.

 

Could he push on the bottom of the ship and cushion the impact? Did he want to try?
Could he save the city with just his jets?

 

Saxon looked at the clock on his hand. He looked about ready to time out. Did he
have enough time to save the day?

 

Two minutes was forever.

 

He touched down on the deck as his slide power ran out. He felt the buttons. They
were cold to the touch. He started to slide down the incline to the lower side of the
aircraft. If he fell off now, he wouldn’t have to worry about the ship hitting the street
on top of him seconds after.

 

Saxon slid toward the edge. He tried to grab part of the deck to keep from falling off.
He wound up hitting part of a buckled plate and holding in place. He didn’t like the
way the deck kept turning toward the street.

 

How long did he have before it rolled over completely?

 

The buttons on his hand warmed up. He pressed them all so he could fly. He jumped
into the air and flew out. The wall was down so he didn’t crash into it.

 

Saxon flew under the aircraft. He picked a spot that looked stable to put his back
against. He began to push on it with his jet power. He didn’t think he was doing
much, but the jets did seem to be pouring more power into the pressure on him.

He knew he would give out before he lifted that weight. His body just wasn’t sturdy
enough to move the tons of metal trying to fall to the street.

 

A young man in a red suit appeared. A green twelve pointed star acted as a tie clip.
He planted himself against the bulk of the ship and things felt lighter to Saxon.

 

“Let me help you out,” said the Red Mark. He smiled as he pushed up against the
aircraft.

 

“Sybil?,” asked Saxon.

 

“He dropped into the ocean,” said the Red Mark. “He’s long gone.”

 

“All I can do is fly,” said Saxon. “There’s nothing I can do about the rest of this.”

 

“Shutting down the force wall was enough,” said the Red Mark. “It gave me a chance
to break in and drive Sybil off so the city couldn’t be harmed more than it already has.
I just need to put this out in the desert somewhere and bury it.”

 

“Is it all right if I take off?,” asked Saxon. He checked the clock on his hand.

 

“Don’t you want credit for saving the city?,” asked the Red Mark. He smiled.

 

“I don’t have time for that,” said Saxon. “I have to fly.”

 

“All right,” said the Red Mark. “I can handle the rest of this. It shouldn’t take a
couple of minutes of flight time to get things done.”

 

“If you need someone to look the engines over, I know a guy,” said Saxon. “Have
a good night.”

 

He called up the marker for his house and jetted away. He didn’t have a lot of time
left, but he should have enough to reach the neighborhood without too many
problems.

 

Saxon flew across the country as fast as he could. He wondered if he should have
landed and recharged the clock. He decided that he could reach Idaville easily
enough.

 

His house loomed up as the clock counted down the last few seconds of his time. He
headed down and hovered outside of his back door as the jets cut off. He dropped
silently to the ground. He looked around before he went inside. It looked like
his arrival hadn’t been as noisy as his other departures had been.

 

He walked inside. His back was sore. His stomach growled. His hands bled some. He
didn’t know why but thought it was some feedback from using his shoot power too
much. Maybe having the stream so close to his hands rubbed them raw after a while.

He decided that he should change out of his clothes and put them away before
someone saw him. He didn’t need the neighbors asking any more questions than they
already did.

 

He changed in the bathroom, taking a shower to clean up, dropping his dirty costume
in the dirty clothes hamper. He put on pajamas and went to the kitchen. He made
a late dinner for himself. After he ate, he cleaned everything up and went back to
the living room. He wondered if there was band music to listen to so he could relax
and sleep in his chair until he felt like moving on to his bed.

 

He listened to the radio until he fell asleep in the dark. Maybe his new power took
more of a toll on his body than he thought.

 

Saxon woke up a few hours later to silence. He looked at the radio. The network must
have gone off the air for a bit. He got out of his chair, went to his bedroom and found
his alarm clock had stopped because he had forgotten to wind it up. He checked his
watch. He had plenty of time to get ready to go to work.

 

He heard his stomach growl. Did he need more food in his system? If he kept using
his jet power, he’ll be spending all of his money on groceries.

 

He went into the kitchen. He checked the pantry and refrigerator. He didn’t have
anything he could cook. He could hit a place on the drive to work. It was the best
he could do at the moment.

 

Saxon got dressed, made sure he had everything he needed for the office, and started
out to his car. He spotted Maury Chadwick standing at the end of his driveway. He
held the morning paper in his hands.

 

“Any good news?,” Saxon asked. He checked his watch. He was leaving earlier than
usual, so he had a minute to spare to talk to his neighbor.

 

“I don’t know,” said Chadwick. “Some new hero saved L. A. according to the paper.
They’re calling him the Rocket.”

 

“You’re kidding,” said Saxon. “What do you mean the Rocket?”

 

“It’s right here on the front page,” said Chadwick. He turned the paper so Saxon
could read the headline for himself.

 

Saxon read the story with a deepening frown. He tried not to give away how he felt
about things.

 

The Red Mark had told reporters on the scene that someone else had forced Doctor
Sybil out of the air. He was proud that a new hero had taken up the mantle to
protect the innocent people that would have harmed by the mad scientist.

 

Saxon shook his head. Now Doctor Sybil was going to hold a grudge against him.
He was going to have to move to Mars to stay out of trouble.

 

Why hadn’t the Red Mark taken the credit? He wouldn’t have cared. Now he felt like
his fun power was another burden to carry.

 

Saxon got in his car and headed for a diner to eat. He didn’t feel like it, but he had to
eat.

 

Especially since he was a hero now.

[csyphrett]

Timeline so far

5000 BC- The Murmur tries to summon the Destroyer and is opposed by Nobody,
Cain, Memphis, Al-a-Din, The King and Mr. Multiverse in the Destroyer. The line
of Kings is created by the Destroyer. The creature that would be known as Mr.
Multiverse was created to stop the Destroyer in the Will of the Universe.

 

1670- Bill Crenshaw is killed by a pirate hunter known as El Rey (The reincarnated
King) in Crenshaw.

 

1935- Bobby Benson takes over from Cain in the Heir. He becomes the Mark.

 

1938- Sir Laurence Fletcher starts the Commando X program with its first recruit,
James Rafferty. The mission is to investigate smuggler Mick Brown for the Secret
Service. 

 

1940- Frank Flanagan decides to become the Protector in the Shield. The Mark brings
the USS Armand in to NYC Harbor after it was struck by a torpedo. Barry Nicklaus
sets a record for highest a human has been in the air. The Promethan saves people
from a fire. 

 

1941- Frank Saxon becomes the Rocket and helps defeat Doctor Rainey Sybil in
Flight of the Rocket Man

 

1955- Barney Strife takes over for Joe Carlson as Herocles in Inherit the Monsters.

 

1956- Enemies of The Mark wound him and kill his friends and fellow spark bearers.
He lethally retaliates against them. Will Williams and Ann Baker were killed. The
Mark’s human side was wounded. Barberossa, Dr. Rainey Sybil, the Butterfly, Koal,
and the Spine were all killed by The Mark in the End of the Light.

 

1964- The Hazard Scouts help the Park Service with an animal enrager.

 

1969- The Mark helps his alternate Earth counterpart, Captain Spark in Across the
Divide. The Hazard Scouts are decimated by an unknown enemy in Showdown in a 
Small Town. Only Marty Morgan, the Animal Boy survives.  

 

1976- Cassie Troy cements her prophetic abilities by stopping a summoned monster
in a church for the life of her friend, Hector, in Cassie’s Knife. She is abetted by
Nobody. 

 

1979- Marty Morgan leads Corona, Cog, Finch and Ren against Watson Security and
their superpowered minions, The Squad, and rescues Barry Nicklaus and Cortez from
imprisonment in Revenge of the Scouts. 

 

1986- The Mark meets Eleanor, Carrie, and Money. He introduces them to Spiffy, and
Cassie Troy in the Sisters. Mark Hadron develops his lamp and begins to gather the
original Lamplighters in Light the Lamp.

 

1990- Eleanor, Carrie, and Money help the Robot Rangers fight a building come to
life in Tokyo in the Robot Ranger Rescue.

 

1992- Pablo Estevez introduces his trainee, Henry Harkness, to his mentors and
Cassie Troy at the Good Eats Diner in the Four Musketeers. The Morgans and Bond
take Stella Marston Scouting in the Woods

 

1995- Shirou Morita becomes M-37 after touching an orb left over from the
Apartment Man’s attack on Tokyo in M-37. Stephen Scry loses his identity and goes
on the run from the Sons of Set.

 

1996- Dr. Yamada tests a radioactive coat for M-37 in Testing for M-37

1997- M-37 responds to an earthquake in M-37's First Flight.

 

2000- Stephen Scry and Memphis confronts Steven Scry at Last Stop, Nevada in
Meet Yourself 

 

2002- Lynette Harkness is born to Henry and Martha June Harkness in Happy
Birthday.

 

2010- Jason Parley gains the sword of the King during a bust of cultists and their
summoned monster in Return of the King. Al-a-Din and his butler deal with a
bombing in Master and Servant. Memphis helps Moshe and Sara Levram against the
Dog Maker in Duel in the Desert. Tanner Lerner and Darla Huitt gain their powers
from a meteor in Ink Buttons.

 

2014- The Lamplighters are decimated. Three are killed. Mark Hadron lost an eye and
had a hand punctured.

 

2015- Jane Hillsmeirer talked to Mark Hadron about restarting the Lamplighters in
The Hermit. Jason Parley, the modern King, threatened a deal of nonagression with
the local mobster in A Parley. Denver McGinty picks up Kisara, Princess of the Genn,
on the side of the road and drops her off in New York City in Girl on the Road. The
basis for Lamplighters West is formed when four women ask Mark Hadron for help
dealing with Crenshaw the ghost pirate in Splinter Cell. Marcel Hobart is the first
new recruit for the new Lamplighters in the Interview. Rangifer Tarandus, The
Reindeer, evades the Black Wolves while trying to save a town in Norway in Special
Delivery. Patty Page, Kathy Baker, Lin Qi, Jean Lopez form the Lamplighters West
and take on Crenshaw with the help of Mark Hadron in Blue Flames in San
Francisco. Roland Givens is embedded with seven spirits by Amenophis and the Sons
of Set despite interference from Tanner Lerner and Lynette Harkness in Button
Pushing. Bobby Iger and Maria Garcia-Lopez join the Lamplighters after a talk with
Harry Cho in Recruited. Ken Aioki is hired to be a Lamplighter in the Last Spot. 

 

2017- The Mark is killed by the Queen of Genn in Make Your Mark. Lynette
Harkness helps fight the invasion in her training suit in New Girl. Marty Morgan dies
leading the Hazard Scouts, the Lamplighters, M-37, the Robot Rangers, and others
against the Queen of Genn in The Scouts Hold the Line. Tanner Lerner and Darla
Huitt take part in the battle for New York in Push All the Buttons. 
 

[csyphrett]

The Vault

1987-

1

“Are you sure we’re supposed to be down here?,” asked Money. She looked up and
down the corridor.

 

“The Mark said we had free rein to explore except his personal quarters up at the top
of the place,” said Eleanor. “Usually you’re the one who wants to adventure.”

 

“I know, but this place is really creepy,” said Money. “That guy in the coat knew this
was the Mark’s place. That’s why he directed us here in the first place.”

 

“The Mark knew him, so he can’t be all bad,” said Carrie.

 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Eleanor. “It’s more like they know each other but work
in different places like neighbors.”

 

“But the Mark is letting us live here now,” said Carrie. “So he did look out for us.”

 

“We’re going to school,” said Money. She stamped her foot. “I thought we ran away
so we wouldn’t have to go to school.”

 

“We ran away so we could stick together,” said Eleanor. “You know that.”

 

“And the Mark has been cool about things,” said Carrie. “He probably couldn’t adopt
us. The government probably frowns on superheroes having kids around.”

 

“We should ask him,” said Money. “I bet he would if we ask him.”

 

“And what do we do if he says no?,” asked Eleanor.

 

“We’re no worse off,” said Carrie. “Money is right. We should ask. If he adopted us,
he’s not likely to put us off on another family, or split us up.”

 

“And I think he is waiting for us to leave on our own,” said Money. “He’s waiting on
us to say we want to stay.”

 

“You don’t know that,” said Eleanor.

 

“I’m positive that’s what’s going on,” said Money. “At very least, he likes having us
around to take care of Spiffy.”

 

“Who doesn’t need us to take care of him,” said Eleanor.

 

“That doesn’t change things,” said Carrie. “You’re being contrary.”

 

She pushed on a door with her hand. A room full of stuff stood on the other side. She
stepped into the room and started looking around. The other girls paused in their
argument to follow her into the room.

 

“What is all this?,” asked Money. She waved her hand at the displays on stands and
shelves as far as the eye could see. Models even hung from the ceiling.

 

“There are labels,” said Carrie. “Red Mark and Rocket stop Dr. Sybil’s siege of Los
Angeles, 1941.”

 

“There are books back there,” said Eleanor. “I wonder what’s in them.”

 

“I think we have stumbled on a batcave,” said Money. She spun in place.

 

“This does look like a museum,” said Carrie.

 

“Who’s the Red Mark?,” asked Eleanor. “Who’s Miss Mark?”

 

“Girls!,” called the Mark. He appeared in the door and froze. He took in the museum
silently. “I thought I had this sealed up.”

 

“What is all this?,” asked Carrie. “It’s great.”

 

“This is Will’s room,” said the Mark. “I have to go deal with an emergency. I don’t
know when I’ll be back. Get something from the kitchen, or go over to Cassie’s. Just
put it on my tab like usual.”

 

“Wait,” said Money, holding up her hand. “We had a question.”

 

“Really?,” said the Mark.

 

Money froze. The look on his face showed impatience to go, and a small amount of
irritation over the room.

 

“Would you adopt us if you could?,” asked Carrie.

 

“Sure,” said the Mark. He looked at the three girls. “It would be dangerous for you,
and there would be problems with the system. I could call Barry, and ask him to help
out, I guess. Are you sure you want to be adopted by me? It would make you three
targets.”

 

“Barry?,” asked Eleanor.

 

“My lawyer,” said the Mark. “Remember what I said about dinner, and stay out of this
room. Some of the things may still work. Will wasn’t always careful about that.”

 

He vanished before they could ask him any more questions.

 

“Barry the lawyer?,” asked Eleanor.

 

“Who’s Will?,” asked Carrie.

 

“Is the Mark gay?,” asked Money. “That would explain so much.”

 

“Let’s talk to Cassie,” said Carrie. “She’ll know something about this.”

 

“She might not tell us,” said Eleanor.

 

“He said he would adopt us,” said Money. “I knew he would. Why does he have a
lawyer?”

 

“He never talks about any of this stuff,” said Eleanor. “He never said anything about
a Red Mark.”

 

“Maybe he thinks we already know,” said Carrie.

 

“He is famous,” said Money.

 

“Everyone knows about the Mark,” said Eleanor. “How many people actually know
him?”

 

“How many people know there was more than one?,” asked Carrie. She thought about
Spiffy. She remembered when they had met the Mark the first day, he had said
Spiffy’s owner had died and that’s why he was keeping him. “What about Spiffy?”

 

“What about him?,” asked Eleanor.

 

“How do you get a Mark Gopher?,” said Carrie. She waved in the direction she
thought Spiffy’s grassland was from the museum room.

 

“Hey, guys!,” called Money. “Look at what I found.”

 

Eleanor and Carrie joined their younger sister. She stood in front of a display of
statues. Each had a label with a name and two dates on it.

 

“The other Marks,” said Eleanor.

 

“They all died the same year,” said Carrie.

 

“How do you know?,” asked Money.

 

“The second date on the plaques are the days they died,” said Carrie. She pointed at
the dates. “It looks like they died within days of each other.”

 

“We can talk to Cassie about this,” said Eleanor. “She’s the Mark’s friend. She’ll
know about these other Marks.”

 

“The Mark did say we could eat at her place,” said Money.

 

“Let’s go before he gets back,” said Carrie. “Emergencies don’t seem to last that long
once the Mark is on the scene.”

 

The girls hurried from the room. Eleanor made sure to shut the door as they left. Why
hadn’t the Mark said anything about the room? She had a suspicion he hadn’t wanted
them to find it despite giving them free rein to roam the tower.

 

He might have thought he had sealed it off after Will had died.

 

Who was Will?

 

The girls made their way through the maze that was the Mark’s tower. Cassie would
know what was going on, or know how to find out. She and the Mark seemed to be
friends. She must know something.

 

Eleanor wondered how they met. Cassie was strange in her own right. She always
wore a glove on one hand, and carried a large knife in a sheath at the small of her
back.

 

“Do you think this Will guy was Spiffy’s owner?,” asked Money.

 

“Maybe,” said Carrie. “Five dead Marks. Any of them could have been Spiffy’s
owner.”

 

“I thought the Mark was invincible,” said Eleanor. “Our Mark acts like it. Maybe
there is something out there tougher than him.”

 

They pushed out of a door in an alley a few blocks from Good Eats. The sign was still
half lit. Eleanor frowned as she thought about what they could say to Cassie. The
woman was trustworthy, but they had no idea what to ask, and how much of an
answer would be helpful.

 

“We should just go in and ask for advice,” said Carrie. “Cassie won’t mind talking
to us.”

 

“There’s the guy,” said Money. She pointed at a man in a coat walking by the diner.
She ran to catch up. He turned when he heard her approach. He smiled when he saw
Money. He waved his cigar in greeting.

 

“You fibbed to us,” said Money. “We almost got sent back to the orphanage.”

 

“But you didn’t,” said the man in the coat. He looked up at Eleanor and Carrie
bearing down on him. “I think things have worked out okay for you three.”

 

“Who are you?,” asked Eleanor. She glanced at Carrie. The middle sister was trying
to catch her breath from the brief sprint.

 

“I’m just a nobody, Eleanor,” said the man in the coat. He took a puff of his cigar. “A
bit part in how the world works.”

 

“What do you know about the other Marks?,” asked Carrie. Her sisters looked at her.
“He knows. You can tell.”

 

“I don’t think that’s my tale to tell,” said the man in the coat. “Have you asked the
Mark about it?”

 

“We just found out, and he had a job to do,” said Eleanor. “You can give us
something. You owe us for the lie you told us.”

 

“Do I?,” said the man in the coat. He seemed amused.

 

“Yes, you do,” said Money. “You owe us for almost sending us back to the
orphanage.”

 

“You had a choice,” said the man in the coat. His face took on a dark expression.
“You made things work out for you. I don’t owe you anything.”

 

“You owe me, bud,” said the cheerful voice of Cassie Troy. She leaned against the
door frame of her diner. She smiled at the confrontation.

 

“I don’t owe you either, Cassandra,” said the man in the coat. He pulled on his 
cheerful expression a little slower than when he had taken it off. “Remember girls,
you all have a choice in what you do. It’s up to you to make it work out for the best.
Nobodies like me don’t even have that.”

 

He turned and walked down the street, pulling on his coat.

 

“Don’t worry about him,” said Cassie. “He doesn’t like to explain himself, and he
doesn’t like to state some of the choices he hands out aren’t really choices at all.”

 

“He’s a good guy, right?,” asked Carrie.

 

“Most of the time,” said Cassie. “He’s known enough that people that deal with him
expect there’s more to the problem than what he says. What can I do for you, girls?”

 

“We would like to ask you some things about the Mark,” said Eleanor. She looked
down the street, but the man in the coat was gone.

 

“I can talk to you after the rush is gone,” said Cassie.

 

“We got sidetracked,” said Carrie. “We also came to get dinner. The Mark said to put
it on his tab.”

 

“Come on in,” said Cassie. “I’ll rustle you up some grub and we’ll talk after things
settle down some.”

 

The sisters settled in the big booth in the back. Eleanor stared out of the window. She
tapped on the table lightly.

 

“What’s eating you?,” asked Money.

 

“That guy,” said Eleanor. “He knows everything we need to know. He wants us to
find it on our own. He didn’t just show up. We’re looking at one of his choices.”

 

“I think he wants us to take over from the Mark,” said Carrie.

 

“I don’t think we can,” said Money. “For one thing, the Mark isn’t just going to hand
us powers.”

 

“He did in the past,” said Eleanor. “But they all died. He probably won’t do it again.”

 

“So what’s the choice we’re being shown?,” asked Carrie. “And why won’t he tell
us?”

 

“It’s not a choice if someone tells you this is the future,” said Eleanor. “It isn’t the
same kind of choice as what he offers. He wants us to make a good decision, but he
can’t tell us for whatever reason. He was really ticked when we said he didn’t give
us any way to handle things.”

 

“He probably thought just sending us to talk to the Mark would get him what he
wanted,” said Carrie.

 

“But it hasn’t,” said Money. “The Mark doesn’t want to give us powers, and doesn’t
need our help to go about his business. There are plenty of other heroes out there he
can depend on instead of us. We don’t have any experience capturing some villain
and his masked monkey.”

 

“I think we need to know what happened to the other Marks,” said Eleanor. “And I
don’t think our Mark is going to tell us.”

 

“Here you go, girls,” said Cassie. She arrived with three different drinks, and three
different dishes for the sisters. “Give me a few minutes to settle things, and we’ll
talk.”

 

“Thanks,” said Carrie.

 

The girls ate their meals in silence. Eleanor watched the street. She felt the Mark
would show up any second and interrupt their talk with Cassie. The fact that he didn’t
said he was facing something serious wherever he was.

 

What happened to them if he never came back from one of the jobs he went on?

Eleanor thought the three of them could keep the tower if they fended off anyone
trying to break in to use it for whatever reason.

 

And Spiffy would help them. She had no fear he wouldn’t use his powers to do things
to protect the maze around his spot.

 

Eleanor noted the dining room slowly emptied out as they waited. She thought Cassie
was seeing people out just so they could talk. She didn’t know what to say to that.

Cassie locked the door and joined them at the booth.

 

“So what’s the problem?,” she asked.

 //

[csyphrett]

Dropped all of The Adventures of Ray Gunn: Be A Shining Light on Royal Road.

CES 

[csyphrett]

The Vault

2

Eleanor didn’t know what to say. This was the Mark’s friend. Should they be asking
her anything about the Mark?

 

“We found a Mark Museum,” said Money. “There were a bunch of different Marks,
but they’re dead.”

 

“And we asked the Mark to adopt us, and he said he would get his lawyer to work on
it, but we’re afraid that he’ll put it off somehow,” said Carrie.

 

“That’s a lot to take in,” said Cassandra. “How do you girls feel about all this?”

 

“We were wondering about the other Marks, but we got sidetracked about the
adoption, and the Mark is on the job so we haven’t had time to talk to him about it,”
said Eleanor. “Then we saw Nobody, but he won’t give us the time of day either.”

 

“He’s probably not going to talk to you about the other Marks,” said a voice from the
kitchen. “They’re his greatest failure.”

 

“This is my partner, Hector,” said Cassandra. “He runs the back for us and knows a
lot about the powered community.”

 

Hector was short, and muscular. He looked younger than the white hair on his head.
He wiped his hands with a rag hanging from his apron. Dark eyes looked sad as he
approached the booth.

 

“What do you mean his failures?,” asked Carrie.

 

“They were killed by the Mark’s enemies,” said Hector. “Wiped out. Only the Mark
survived.”

 

“And then the government had to put him on trial for what he did afterwards,” said
Cassie. “He wanted to enter a guilty plea but his lawyer pled him not guilty and
fought the charges.”

 

“His lawyer, Barry?,” asked Eleanor.

 

“Barry Nicklaus, Mister Robot,” said Hector.

 

“Mister Robot?,” said Money. “Seriously?”

 

“Seriously,” said Hector. “Nicklaus got him off.”

 

“These other Marks,” said Carrie. “They were killed on the same day?”

 

“Same week at least,” said Hector. “One of them was guarding some kind of monster
in Georgia. When she died, no one but the Mark could get near her place. Anybody
that tried got chewed up. The locals said it attacked from underneath the ground.”

 

“Spiffy,” said Eleanor. “Remember what the Mark said. He ripped someone’s leg
off.”

 

“Spiffy?,” said Cassie.

 

“The Mark’s gopher,” said Eleanor.

 

“Gopher?,” said Cassie. She laughed.

 

“Don’t laugh,” said Carrie. “Spiffy is as big as a motorcycle and can tunnel faster than
a champion sprinter.”

 

“Powered up?,” said Hector.

 

“Yeah,” said Carrie. “The Mark said he belonged to a friend.”

 

“That explains that,” said Hector. “No one knew what happened to the monster. The
local sheriff just said the Mark took care of it.”

 

“I think we’re getting sidetracked,” said Eleanor. “You said the Mark went on trial.”

 

“It’s old stuff,” said Hector. “You could look most of this up in a book.”

 

“I know,” said Eleanor. “But you’re the expert, and we need help deciding what we
want to do.”

 

“All right,” said Hector. He went back in the kitchen. He came back with six glasses
of soda on a tray. He put the tray down on the table and pulled a chair close for
himself. “All right, let’s start from the beginning so you can have a better picture of
what happened.”

 

He sat down and pulled one of the glasses from the tray. He took a sip and nodded.

 

“It’s Thirty Eight, and America hasn’t joined the war yet,” said Hector. “Hitler’s
Germany is in motion, but it will be two more years before the Blitz. The Mark
explodes on the scene. Don’t get me wrong. There were other heroes before him.
There were heroes almost as powerful as he proved to be, but he started as a shining
example for people at that time.”

 

“Why didn’t he stop the Nazis if he’s so strong,” asked Money.

 

“I’m getting to that,” said Hector. “When the Mark came on the scene, he attracted
people who were basically jealous of him, or who saw him as a big stumbling block
to what they wanted to do. So one day, he would be dealing with the Iron Templar
trying to steal secrets and committing sabotage, and the next saving some boat that
got torpedoed, and then trying to save New York from some scheme cooked up by
one of his personal enemies.

 

“At some point around Pearl Harbor, people started noticing other heroes with the
Mark’s mark. There was the Red Mark in California, Miss Mark in Boston, and three
others that didn’t do as much but did protect areas I guess where they lived like the
monster in Georgia.”

 

“Spiffy probably lived with the Mark from Georgia,” said Eleanor. “He’s smart
enough to protect the body until it could be found.”

 

“That was probably Dixie Mark,” said Hector. “She didn’t operate much, but there
were reports of things going down where she saved the day there.”

 

“So the Mark created them,” said Carrie.

 

“That was always everyone’s guess, but he never said one way or the other,” said
Hector. “He never took the stand at his trial, so they couldn’t force him to admit it
under oath.”

 

“So what happened?,” asked Money.

 

“We won the war,” said Hector. “There were stories about things going on, but a lot
of it was classified by the powers that be. The Marks and a bunch of other powered
heroes helped ease things so there wasn’t a lot of recrimination in that early
peacetime. Even the villains seemed to take a break.

 

“But what had happened was a group of villains led by the Mark’s enemy Doctor
Sybil found out who all the minor Marks were and killed them one by one.”

 

“I thought the Mark couldn’t be hurt,” said Money.

 

“A lot of people thought that,” said Hector. “It looks like they were wrong. Sybil
didn’t get a lot of time to gloat. The Mark crushed him on Mars according to the trial
transcripts and books.”

 

“What do you mean crushed him on Mars?,” asked Eleanor.

 

“Exactly what I said,” said Hector. “The report was that the Mark used Sybil’s force
bubble invention that he tried to use to cut Los Angeles off from the rest of the world
against him and flung him to Mars. And then he dropped a mountain on him.”

 

“Really?,” asked Carrie.

 

“Crushed him flatter than a pancake,” said Hector. He put the palms of his hands
together, and rubbed.

 

“You said there was a group,” said Eleanor. “What happened to them? Did the Mark
kill them all?”

 

“No one knows how big a group it was,” said Hector. “But he did kill Sybil and a few
others when they set fire to his friends right in front of him. The rumor that they were
the secondary Marks was confirmed at the trial. The prosecution wanted to know why
the Mark had used lethal force in this one instance when he hadn’t before then. Barry
Nicklaus had to reveal the connection to prove his self defense claim.”

 

“They killed the three who didn’t operate in the open that much, then the Red Mark
and Miss Mark?,” asked Carrie.

 

“And tried to kill the Mark too,” said Cassie.

 

“No wonder he killed them back,” said Money.

 

“It’s no wonder he didn’t like us finding the trophy room,” said Eleanor. “It was full
of reminders of his friends.”

 

“After the trial, the Mark semi-retired,” said Hector. “Barry Nicklaus’s Scouts, the
Robot Rangers, Mister Multiverse, and others took up the load. Every once in a while,
there would be some kind of miraculous rescue, or intervention, and people would
think he was still on the job.”

 

“Wait,” said Carrie. “The Mark’s lawyer is a superhero.”

 

“Yep,” said Hector. “He used to lead the Hazard Scouts until they were wiped out.
Animal Boy survived the attack. He assembled a new team of Scouts and found out
who attacked the first team. Nicklaus was imprisoned for ten years with his oldest
enemy until he was rescued.”

 

“This was the same guy as the Mark’s lawyer?,” asked Money.

 

“Yep,” said Hector. “He was Mister Robot. Before that, he was an old school
adventurer and daredevil that did stunts and looked at strange mysteries. He slowly
slid over into hero work as an extension of what he was already doing.”

 

“Did he lose his team before or after defending the Mark?,” asked Eleanor.

 

“After,” said Hector. “His team was lured into a trap and they were wiped out except
for Animal Boy. I guess he just goes by Animal now since he is older than me.”

 

“When did this happen?,” asked Carrie.

 

“Sixty nine was when the original team was ambushed, seventy nine was when the
Animal put the second team together and found Nicklaus,” said Hector.

 

“How do you two know the Mark?,” asked Eleanor.

 

“We’ve crossed paths,” said Cassie. “Every now and again, he gives me a hand to fix
things in the city.”

 

“Have you guys met anyone else?,” asked Money.

 

“Just the Scarabs,” said Cassie. “They come in and have a meeting every once
and a while, and Nobody.”

 

“I’m just a helpless cog in the machinery of the universe,” said Carrie, holding up her
hands to make air quotes.

 

“That’s pretty good,” said Cassie. She laughed a little.

 

“You got him almost perfect,” said Hector. “Maybe raise your voice a little. I don’t
know.”

 

“I’ll work on it,” said Carrie.

 

“Now that you girls know everything, what are you going to do?,” asked Cassie.

 

“I don’t know,” said Eleanor. “Will he even be able to adopt with all this crazy stuff
around what he did fifty years ago?”

 

“You won’t know until you go to court,” said Cassie. “I think you kids need to go
home. We still have to finish cleaning up the diner, and you guys have to work on
what you want to say to the Mark about everything. He definitely will be reluctant to
adopt if he thinks you’re in constant danger being around him.”

 

“He had bad luck once,” said Money.

 

“It wasn’t bad luck,” said Hector. He looked at his glass. Ice floated in water at the
bottom. “His enemies figured out how to hit when his friends were at their most
vulnerable and killed them. The same thing could happen to the three of you. He’s
going to worry about that. You’ll be his responsibility.”

 

“And despite his bluster, I think he likes you three,” said Cassie. “He’s never had
a normal life from the things he’s said. He may look at this as a chance to be a little
more normal instead of what his life is usually like.”

 

“I think being normal is the last thing on his mind,” said Eleanor. “We have to talk
to him and figure out what we can do.”

 

“So did we help?,” asked Hector.

 

“I think so,” said Eleanor. “At least we know why he was upset that we found the
trophy room.”

 

“Was one of the Marks named Will?,” asked Carrie.

 

“The two people killed in Los Angeles were Will Williams and Ann Baker,” said
Hector. “The neighbors testified at the Mark’s trial that they were getting married
eventually. Williams had just bought a ring for their wedding, and they were trying
to set a date. They didn’t have any idea that the two were powers.”

 

“That’s another reason he might have crossed the line if he knew,” said Money.

 

“We can’t worry about that,” said Eleanor. “We should head back. Tomorrow is a
school day, and the Mark is going to want us to have our school work done.”

 

“You kids will do great,” said Cassie. “Head on out. If there is any more problems,
come on by.”

 

“Does Nobody really owe you, Cassie?,” asked Carrie.

 

“I don’t know,” said Cassie. “But I like to rub it in that he does. It gives me a good
feeling inside.”

 

“He’s always been mad that Cassie forced him to take direct action once,” said
Hector. He gathered up the half empty glasses and put them on the tray. “He likes
to do the opposite so very much.”

 

“Wait,” said Eleanor. “Really?”

 

“One day,” said Cassie, ushering the girls to the door. “When you need it most,
I’ll tell you about the time I stabbed an elder god in the face.”

 

“Now you’re pulling our legs,” said Money.

 

“I would never do that, midget,” said Cassie. She unlocked the door and looked
out in the sky. “Head home. It looks like bad news is hitting the city. You
don’t want to get mixed up in that.”

 

“Did you really stab an elder god in the face?,” asked Carrie.

 

“He thought he was an elder god,” said Cassie. “But he was a scrub. Go home
and lock down for the night until the Mark gets done. Things are looking bad ahead.”

 

“Cassie’s right,” said Eleanor. “Something is going on. We should head back to the
tower.”

 

“All right,” said Carrie. She and Money exchanged looks. Eleanor had something
in the works. They knew that look.

 

Eleanor led the way back to the tower. She opened the door and headed for Spiffy’s
room at a fast trot.

 

“What are you doing?,” asked Carrie. She huffed behind her older sister.

 

“Why are we running?,” asked Money.

 

“We need to talk to Spiffy,” said Eleanor. “I want to do it before the Mark gets
home.”

 

“And what are we talking to him about?,” asked Carrie.

 

“About becoming Marks,” said Eleanor.

 

“Are you serious?,” asked Money.

 

“Yes,” said Eleanor. “We know he can do it. I’m hoping that he will do it if we ask
him. We could be Marks too.”

 

“All the other Marks got killed,” said Carrie.

 

“If we don’t do something, the Mark will think we’re sponges,” said Eleanor. “School
is his way of giving us a normal life. It’s also his way of letting us work for our
keep.”

 

“I don’t get it,” said Money.

 

“She’s saying that the Mark lets us stay here because we’re going to school like he
asks,” said Carrie. “It’s like rent. If we cut out of school, he would think we’re not
worth his time.”

 

“He would take us back to the orphanage instead of adopting us,” said Eleanor.

 

“So why are we talking to Spiffy to get Mark powers?,” said Carrie.

 

“Because Cassie was warning us that the city is in danger,” said Eleanor. “That’s why
she told us to lock the tower down so we would be safe. I think we should so
something about that.”

 

“We’re going to get into so much trouble over this,” said Money.

 

“Going out in a blaze of glory seems okay to me,” said Carrie.
 

 

[csyphrett]

The Vault 

3

Eleanor led the way into Spiffy’s room. It was a meadow inside the tower. Twilight
echoed the time outside, but the girls knew this space ran on its own time. There was
no sign of the giant gopher anywhere.

 

“Spiffy!,” called Eleanor. She whistled as loud as she could in a sharp tone. “I need
to talk to you.”

 

“Maybe he went out,” said Money.

 

“The market does have a good deal on carrots right now,” said Carrie.

 

“I know,” said Money.

 

“Do you two mind?,” said Eleanor. “Spiffy!”

 

A trail of dirt heralded the arrival of the Mark’s gopher. He chittered when he saw the
three sisters. A streak of green dotted his brown fur.

 

“The Mark’s in trouble, Spiffy,” said Eleanor. “We need super powers to help out.”

 

“We don’t know he’s in trouble,” said Carrie.

 

“Cassie could be wrong,” said Money. “The city might be fine.”

 

Spiffy trundled closer to Eleanor. He reached up with one of his paws and grabbed
her arm. He looked her in the eye with his own brown buttons. He chittered quietly.

 

“We know about your Mark, Spiffy,” said Eleanor. “We found Will’s museum and
there’s a statue of her there. We know what happened. Cassie Troy said the city is
in trouble. We would like to help out. Will you help us?”

 

Spiffy seemed to consider the words. He chittered at her.

 

“We know the risks,” said Eleanor. “Please help us.”

 

Spiffy headbutted her with his hard skull. She reeled back from the contact.
Something lit up inside. She had powers now. Would they help her, or turn into a
monstrosity?

 

She lifted off the ground. The fact that she could fly was reward enough for the mad
scheme they were going to have to do.

 

“Can you give the others powers too, Spiffy?,” asked Eleanor. “We’re going to find
the Mark and help out.”

 

“You look older, Ell,” said Money.

 

“It comes with the power,” said Eleanor. “So does the toga. How did the Mark get
a suit?”

 

“Do me next, Spiffy,” said Money. “I want to be able to fly too.”

 

“This doesn’t seem like a good idea,” said Carrie.

 

“What doesn’t seem like a good idea is seeing if we can help out,” said Eleanor. “I’m
going. You two stay here.”

 

Eleanor vanished with the slamming of the door to Spiffy’s meadow. Carrie and
Money looked at each other.

 

“Are we letting her get away with that?,” asked Carrie.

 

“Heck, no,” said Money. “Juice me up, Spiffy. I have to make sure Eleanor doesn’t
hurt herself.”

 

“We have to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself,” said Carrie.

 

Spiffy chittered at the girls.

 

“No carrots for a week, buddy,” said Carrie. “I’ll cut you off like that.”

 

“That goes triple double for me, Spiff,” said Money. “Let’s get this done. We have
to save the city, and impress the Mark enough to adopt us. Let’s do this.”

 

Spiffy butted both of the remaining sisters. He watched as they changed in front of
him.

 

“As soon as we get back, we’ll run around with you,” promised Money. “We won’t
let you down, Spiff.”

 

The gopher chittered quietly. He trundled away slowly through the grass of his room.

 

“Let’s go before he changes his mind,” said Carrie. “He didn’t look happy about us
borrowing some of his power to run our own schemes.”

 

“We’ll have to get him some carrots when we’re done,” said Money.

 

“I don’t think he takes bribes either,” said Carrie. She shot out of the room.

 

“We’ll see about that,” said Money. She followed in a streak of lightning.

 

They flew out of the tower, heading up over Manhattan Island. A swirl of clouds spun
above Central Park. Flashes of fire lit up the sky.

 

“Do you see Eleanor?,” asked Carrie. Her toga whipped in the wind.

 

“She must have headed for the trouble,” said Money. “Do we want to do the same
thing?”

 

“We can’t sit back and hover over the city until the Mark decides to take the flying
from us,” said Carrie. “Let’s see if we can lend a hand.”

 

“I’m down,” said Money.

 

The two of them blasted across the sky. They found Eleanor moving people away
from the battlefield.

 

“Can you two run interference?,” asked Eleanor. “I have enhanced vision to find
people but there’s stuff falling down from the tops of the buildings.”

 

“We got it,” said Money. “We’re lightning.”

 

She ignited the air as she ripped around. Brick and steel piled up on the street away
from anyone that could be hurt.

 

Carrie joined her at a more leisurely pace. She smiled when the sky finished dumping
on the dispersing crowd below.

 

“Do you know what’s going on, Eleanor?,” asked Carrie.

 

“It looks like something is trying to hit the city from somewhere else,” said Eleanor.
“I don’t know how to stop it. Any ideas?”

 

“What are you three doing here?,” asked the Mark, appearing out of nowhere. “How
are you flying? Spiffy.”

 

“I asked him for powers so I could come down and help out,” said Eleanor. “It was
my idea. I didn’t know the others would come down after me.”

 

“And Spiffy loves me,” said Money.

 

“You three are in so much trouble right now,” said the Mark. “I just don’t have
time to deal with it right now.”

 

“We can still help out,” said Carrie. “We got those people out of the way and stopped
the pieces broken from the buildings from killing anyone.”

 

“And I can shoot lightning,” said Money. She held up her hand. Sparks danced
around her fingers.

 

“All right,” said the Mark. “I’m still mad as a hornet. I’ll deal with you three
after this is over. Come with me, Money. You two wait here until I get back.”

 

“There goes our adoption,” said Carrie after the Mark and Money headed for
one building in particular.

 

“It will be okay,” said Eleanor. “Can you shoot lightning too?”

 

“No,” said Carrie. “I just shoot normal energy waves. I wonder why. The Mark
doesn’t do that.”

 

“I have laser eyes to go with my enhanced sight,” said Eleanor. “I have no idea
how that’s supposed to work.”

 

“Maybe whatever powers the Marks can change up what they do,” said Carrie.

 

“That makes sense,” said Eleanor. “The others probably only thought they couldn’t
do what we can do now.”

 

The Mark reappeared. He frowned at his younger counterparts.

 

“Carrie, I want you to circle around the edge of things,” said the Mark. “If anything
that looks dangerous tries to get out, herd them back in this spot if you can.”

 

“If it looks dangerous?,” said Carrie.

 

“It will look dangerous to normal people,” said the Mark. “You should be able
to fend off anything less than Spiffy.”

 

“I got it,” said Carrie. She sped off to take care of her part in things.

 

“Eleanor, I need you to cover anything I can’t cover,” said the Mark. “Use better
judgement than coming out here and getting hurt.”

 

“I know this isn’t what you wanted,” said Eleanor. “We found out about the others.
I decided that you needed more Marks running loose. I asked Spiffy to loan me some
of his ability. I guess the others decided to do the same thing.”

 

“We’ll talk about this later,” said the Mark. “Right now, I am really angry that
you are here and in danger when you should be far away.”

 

“It’s okay, Dad,” said Eleanor. “We got this.”

 

She flew away before he could continue the tirade.

 

Eleanor spent the next few minutes helping one of the Scarlet Scarabs blasting things
out of the sky. Another one crossed her vision a couple of times, but he didn’t
have the flying armor of his mentor.

 

Her enhanced vision allowed her to keep tabs on her sisters. Money was with a
bunch of mad scientists building a giant lamp from spare parts. Lightning and blue
flames kept the area clear.

 

Carrie flew a patrol like she was asked. Anything that got close took a blast of flame
from her hands. She seemed to be flying fast enough that her speed was dragging
wind behind her.

 

Everything was going better than what she expected. Maybe she didn’t have the
experience to recognize the risks. They just seemed minimal as a Mark.

 

Maybe that was the real danger. You didn’t think you could get hurt, but there
were things out there that could hurt you if you weren’t ready for them.

 

It wouldn’t be the first time Eleanor had taken a shot to the face when she should
have run. She could handle it.

 

The mad scientists blasted at the cloud as soon as their lamp was done. It turned into
a blue inferno under glass. The swirl closed as the flames pulled more energy down
to be locked in the holding tank. Then the sky was clear of the door to elsewhere.

Eleanor saw the other fliers landing on the roof with the lamp. She did the same, after
waving for Carrie to join them.

 

The small crowd seemed jubilant after their victory over whatever it was they had
been fighting.

 

“Readings are going down,” said one of the mad scientists. “It looks like things are
going back to normal.”

 

“That’s good news,” said the older Scarlet Scarab. “I thought for a minute we were
going to lose it.”

 

“Naw, Hoss,” said one of the mad scientists in a cowboy hat. “With Mister Multiverse
and Lightning helping us, we could have built a lamp ten times the size of what we
had and drained the whole kit and caboodle from the other side of the gate.”

 

“Where is Mister Multiverse?,” asked the Scarab.

 

“Multiversing,” said a man in a black suit. “Showing up to close large doors is his
thing.”

 

“Who are the kids, Mark?,” asked a guy in purple. .

 

“These are my daughters, Rocket,” said the Mark. “Who should not be here, and who
will be grounded for the next two weeks.”

 

“That’s some rough stuff, kids,” said Rocket. “Save the city and have to sit facing
the corner. I have to take off. I’ll see you guys around.”

 

Rocket exploded into the sky and blasted south. He waved as he went.

 

“Could we get a hand moving this downstairs,” said one of the mad scientists. “We
don’t want it to explode. That might cause more problems.”

 

“I got it, Mark,” said the Mark. “Girls, say good night to the nice Lamplighters,
Scarabs, and Mister Scry. Then head home. We’ll talk when I get home.”

 

“Your hero name is Mister Scry,” said Money.

 

“No,” said Mister Scry. “It’s my real name.”

 

“I don’t believe you,” said Money.

 

“Young lady,” said the Mark. “I don’t see you moving back to the tower. Chop, chop.
Also tell Spiffy he’s grounded too.”

 

“You can’t ground Spiffy,” said Money. “He’s innocent.”

 

“March,” said the Mark. “You’re supposed to be doing your homework.”

 

“I got that done hours ago,” said Money.

 

“Good,” said the Mark. “We’ll go over it when I get home.”

 

“There’s no need for that,” said Money.

 

“You didn’t do your homework, did you?,” asked the Mark.

 

“Most of it,” said Money.

 

“I think three weeks of manual labor is the way to go here,” said the Mark.

 

“It was nice to meet all of you,” said Money. She vanished in a trail of lightning.

Carrie waved and flew off almost as fast.

 

“It was a pleasure to meet all of you,” said Eleanor. She floated gently into the air and
flew toward the nearest tower door.

 

She smiled the whole time she was in the air.

 

Eleanor found the other girls in Spiffy’s room. They were taking turns throwing
carrots for him to grab out of the air.

 

“Three weeks of grounding,” said Money.

 

“It could have been worse,” said Carrie.

 

“Did you hear what he said?,” asked Eleanor.

 

“Which part?,” said Money. “I did hear you’re grounded, and Spiffy is grounded too.”

 

Spiffy made a noise like I would like to see him try to ground me.

 

“He told them we’re his daughters,” said Eleanor. “He just flat out said it like we
were his daughters.”

 

“I missed that,” said Money.

 

“He’s not sending us away,” said Carrie. “This is great.”

 

“That is great,” said Money. “I wish it didn’t come with three weeks of grounding.”

 

“Don’t be a sour grape,” said Carrie. “We were worried that we wouldn’t have a place
to stay, but now we do.”

 

“It’ll be nice to have a safe place to live,” said Eleanor. “How do we change back?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Carrie.

 

“The Mark will know,” said Money. “Hopefully we can keep our powers. I like being
able to fly.”

 

“We’ll ask,” said Eleanor.

[csyphrett]

The Vault

4

The three weeks of grounding flew by for the girls. They were filled with scrubbing
the floors and walls, dusting, and learning about the superhuman world. The Mark
handled any emergency that attracted his attention, or met with his lawyer about the
adoption.

 

A quick look inside Will’s museum netted a new display with their names on it.
Eleanor smiled as she dusted the case with its small diorama inside it.

 

They had to go to the courthouse eventually. They stood before a judge and signed
the necessary paperwork. Barry wore a suit over his robot body as he stood to one
side.

 

He had worked out an agreement with the state of New York. Eleanor wasn’t sure
about the details. The court had granted the Mark adoption privileges for the three of
them so the tower was officially their home.

 

They didn’t have to worry about going back to the orphanage unless the Mark gave
them up. The way he smiled, that wasn’t going to happen.

 

“So let’s celebrate,” said the Mark. “Where would you girls like to go?”

 

“We should go by Cassie’s,” said Money. “She’ll get us a cake and ice cream.”

 

“We can try that place with the pies,” said Carrie.

 

“I think we should go to the bookstore and shop until we drop,” said Eleanor.

 

“We can do all of that and take in a movie too,” said the Mark. “Today is our day.”

 

“We should get Spiffy and see if he wants to go out with us,” said Money.

 

“We couldn’t take him anywhere that didn’t allow animals,” said Eleanor.

 

“There’s a few wild places we can take him to see how he likes it,” said the Mark.

 

“He’s been in the tower a long time, hasn’t he?,” asked Carrie.

 

“If he was a normal gopher, he would be dead of old age,” said the Mark. “The spark
is what’s keeping him alive.”

 

“If he lost his powers, he would die?,” asked Money.

 

“Old age,” said Mark.

 

“Rodents don’t live that long,” said Eleanor. “Spiffy has outlived two generations of
gophers.”

 

“What do you want to do, girls?,” asked the Mark, bringing the subject back on target.

 

“Let’s hit Cassie’s first,” said Money.

 

“I don’t have a problem with that,” said Carrie. “Ell?”

 

“Are we flying there?,” asked Eleanor.

 

“If you want,” said the Mark. He vanished in a puff of air and a laugh. “Last one
there, buys.”

 

“I can’t believe it,” said Money. She turned into yellow lightning and chased after
him. “Cheater!”

 

Carrie changed into the purple dress she had practiced on for the last two weeks. She
glanced at her sister.

 

“Coming?,” she said.

 

“I’ll get there,” said Eleanor. “I think I am basking in the glow of happiness. I don’t
remember having this feeling before. Now that I do, I want to hold on to it as long as
I can before it fades away.”

 

“Things are just going to get better from here on out,” said Carrie. She blasted into
the air.

 

Eleanor smiled as she walked along. She shook herself and laughed. She changed into
the light blue dress she had worked on to wear. Then she soared into the sky after her
family.

 

She felt ready for whatever might happen next.

 

Years down the road, she would remember that feeling and wonder if she would ever
feel it again. She would walk into Cassie’s alone and beaten. The gray woman would
smile and take her to the booth in the back and they would talk.

 

Cassie would tell her about how Hector had been taken by a cult one night. And how
Nobody had shown her where to go. She had stabbed an alien menace in the face to
save her best friend.

 

And she would pull the knife she had kept that gleamed in the light because the metal
had warped to glass, and then she would show Eleanor her hand that had been
wounded and transformed too.

 

She would tell Eleanor it had been worth it for the extra time with Hector, and all the
people she had met in the years since, and how she had known the Mark had felt the
same way when he did what he did.

 

He wanted to protect Eleanor and the grandchild that he would never see. He wanted
to protect her sisters. The world was a distant second to that.

 

Eleanor would listen to the assurance. She would sip her coffee. The grayness would
fade as she thought about having a child when she didn’t know she was pregnant yet.

 

Cassie would pull on the glove and sheathe the knife in its place at the small of her
back where she had carried it since Seventy Six. She would walk Eleanor to the door
and tell her that life went on.

 

Eleanor would look back at the Good Eats Café as she walked away. She would
wave. And the grayness would disappear with the same feeling she had felt before
flying toward the diner to celebrate having a dad when it had looked like her tiny
family would break apart.

 

That conversation was decades in the future. The world would change thanks to the
Mark Sisters helping out where they could. They would get fame and fortune while
their adoptive father kept to the shadows and saved the day without anyone realizing
it.

 

Eleanor flew to the Good Eats. She paused when she saw the giant banner inside.
Someone had put up a banner saying Happy Birthday in rainbow colors. She smiled
at it.

 

Cassie had shut the place down from the look of it. She laughed at it. She wondered
who had shown up at their private party.

 

“El,” said Carrie. “The Mark had some of his friends drop by. I can’t believe it.”

 

“Neither can I,” said Eleanor. “Who’s all here?”

 

“Those Scarab guys, the Lamplighters, people I never met,” said Carrie. “I think
Cassie invited them all.”

 

“No Mister Multiverse?,” said Eleanor.

 

“He’s the only one that didn’t show up from the other night,” said Carrie. “Someone
said he only shows for danger.”

 

“Why would Cassie call these people here?,” asked Eleanor. “We don’t know any of
them.”

 

“So that we can get to know them, I guess,” said Carrie. “Come on. These guys are
swapping stories like you wouldn’t believe.”

 

Eleanor entered the diner. Cassie had set up a buffet for her guests. People had
grabbed plates and put on what they wanted. They mingled in groups, talking shop
and what was going on in their lives.

 

Eleanor found herself with the younger Scarlet Scarab. He stood by the window, the
bottom half of his mask up so he could eat.

 

“Having a good time?,” she asked.

 

“Sure,” said the Scarab. “I don’t know most of these people so it’s hard to mingle.”

 

“I’m in the same boat,” said Eleanor. “I’m Eleanor.”

 

“I’m Henry,” said the Scarab. “I’m in training to be the next Scarlet Scarab.”

 

“I noticed you don’t have the same type of armor enhancements as the other Scarab,”
said Eleanor.

 

“I like a lot of speed,” said Henry. “Pablo likes a lot of firepower. He doesn’t want
to dodge around when he can blow stuff up.”

 

“I can see that,” said Eleanor. “Who do you know here?”

 

“Just the people that were there the night you guys came out to help,” said Henry.
“The Lamplighters, Stephen Scry, the Rocket, the Cursor.”

 

“There was a Rocket back in the forties,” said Eleanor, remembering the display.

 

“Not the same guy, unless he stayed the same age,” said Henry. “He might be a legacy
like me, and you.”

 

“Trained to take over for other Rockets?,” said Eleanor.

 

“We can ask, but I’m sure that’s what happened,” said Henry.

 

“There’s Mister Nicklaus,” said Eleanor. “He’s the Mark’s lawyer.”

 

“Mister Robot,” said Henry. “It’s a miracle he’s still alive. He was a brain in a jar for
ten years. He would still be there if the Animal hadn’t found him.”

 

“Who’s the guy with him?,” asked Eleanor.

 

“I don’t know,” said Henry.

 

“Let’s go find out,” said Eleanor.

 

They walked over to where the cyborg and the stranger talked with the older Scarab
and the Rocket.

 

“Ell,” said Nicklaus. “This is my adopted son, Marty. You briefly met the Scarab
and Rocket the other night I’m told.”

 

“How’s it going?,” said Henry.

 

“Hello,” said Eleanor.

 

“Marty is leading the Scouts now,” said the older Scarab. 

 

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Marty. “Mostly I make sure my wife only breaks the legs
that we need broken. That reminds me that we have to go. I promised to be back in
time to let her go to her retreat. We need to go, Barry.”

 

“I can carry you out there,” said Eleanor. “Do you guys need any special gear for
high speed flight?”

 

“I don’t, but Marty will,” said Nicklaus. “He’s not as tough as I am.”

 

“I’ll think of something,” said Eleanor. “How much of a problem could it be?”

 

“You’re talking about carrying a human body at supersonic speed,” said the old
Scarab. “Marty could fly apart from the stress.”

 

“I got the solution to this problem,” said Henry. “All we need is an oxygen tank for
Marty. How fast do you think you fly, Ell?”

 

“I don’t have any idea,” said Eleanor. She assumed it was fast. She had flown across
the city in a few seconds.

 

“I can get an air supply tank,” said the older Scarab. “Give me a couple of minutes.
Let’s see how this works.”

 

“Are you sure this is safe?,” Eleanor whispered to Henry.

 

“Not really,” said Henry.

 

The other Scarab left for a bit. Eleanor filled in the time asking questions of Nicklaus,
Marty, and the Rocket. She had a small overview of the Scouts and the other Rockets
that had worked in the past by the time he had returned.

 

“All right,” said the older Scarab. He motioned for the others to join him outside.

“This is an air supply, and this is a stopwatch. Press the button when you launch,
Marty. Press it when you land. A signal will tell me how fast you were going.”

 

“Got it,” said Marty. He donned the air supply, making sure the straps were in place.

 

“All right,” said Henry. He aimed both of his arms at Marty. Foam covered the Scout
from head to toe. “He’s ready to roll.”

 

“Get ready to launch, Marty,” called out Nicklaus. “Shall we go?”

 

“Are you sure you can take high speed flight?,” asked Eleanor.

 

“Go ahead,” said Nicklaus. He waved a metal hand.

 

Eleanor exploded into the air, one arm wrapped around the cyborg’s metal body. She
didn’t know exactly where she was going, but figured west was the best direction
until Nicklaus could tell her where to go more directly.

 

They blasted through the Rockies seconds later. Eleanor would have enjoyed it more
if she wasn’t looking for a sign to where she had to go.

 

“Turn right a little bit,” said Barry. “You are really fast.”

 

“This is the first time I really cut loose,” said Eleanor. “What should I be looking
for?”

 

“A helipad with a hourglass engraved on it,” said Nicklaus. “That should be the
top of our installation.”

 

Eleanor spotted the bunker after a second of looking. Her enhanced vision saved
the day after all. She touched down on the pad and lowered Nicklaus to his feet. She
grabbed the web around Marty and pulled it loose with one shrug of her shoulders.

 

“That was fast,” mumbled Marty. “Faster than a plane.”

 

“Thanks for the ride, dear,” said Nicklaus. “Did you push the button, Marty?”

 

“Yep,” said Marty. He pulled off the mask for the air supply. “It was like a minute
of flight time.”

 

“It probably would have been shorter if I knew where I was going,” said Eleanor.

 

“This is good enough,” said Marty. “Thanks, Ell.”

 

He fled inside the bunker like building.

 

“That was a good trip,” said Nicklaus. “I would love to do it again sometime.”

 

“Thanks for your help with the court,” said Eleanor. “That was more important.”

 

She blasted into the air and headed east faster than a speeding bullet.

 

[csyphrett]

Going Home

He frowned at the clouds overhead. Wind tugged on his green tunic, and wide
brimmed hat as the air moved toward the giant turmoil in the distance. He tested the 
pull of his bow, and the ease of draw of his sword as he waited.

 

He stood on a roof in the middle of a human city. Ocean and rivers surrounded the
island with water. All around him, humans and their champions prepared to fight the
invasion ahead.

 

He would have to fight too, but his battlefield was the roof he stood on and the
surrounding area. His princess was there, and he had to be there to protect her.

He glanced at his princess. She stood radiant among the humans that had gathered to
throw their might into the fray. Her gold and silver adventurer’s clothes stood out
among the black favored by the magicians. She regarded the oncoming universe with
amethyst eyes and a frown on her narrow face.

 

“Threat,” said one of the many sprites that circled him. It pointed at another roof
across the road. “Threat.”

 

He drew an arrow and rubbed the head with his fingers before putting it on the string
of his bow. He took aim at the trees coming out of the roof door across the way. He
counted five of them before he shot. His arrow caught fire as it streaked through the
air. It struck the leader of the strange creatures, but nothing happened.

 

He would have to switch weapons if he wanted to do more than that.

 

“Arrows not doing anything?,” said an old man who had come with a butler. He stood
on the roof with a sword in hand. He wore a plain tunic of a darker green than the
archer’s own. His eyes were the brown of mud.

 

“The one didn’t,” he agreed. “I still have some tricks.”

 

“Threat,” said various members of his entourage. They pointed in different directions.

 

“It looks like we have a crowd coming in,” said the archer. He looked around. Some
of the trees had mounted flying carriages to attack the roof.

 

“I had better get to my side,” said the old man.

 

He walked around the crowd of magicians, spinning his sword to test the grip. The
archer wished him the best of luck.

 

The carriages vanished from the sky. He didn’t think the magicians had spared the
energy to knock them down. One of the faster champions must have done it while he
was concentrating on keeping his roof clear of the riff raff.

 

He reached into his hip bag. He pulled out one of the bombs he had made with the
help of his entourage. He lit the fuse with a rub of his fingers and then threw it. The
black sphere sailed across the road and landed on his target roof. The trees didn’t pay
attention as it rolled into their midst.

 

The explosion sliced at the bottom of the moving trunks. Fire gouted from the
wounds. He supposed that was why his arrow hadn’t worked. He frowned. Maybe he
could put their fires out with the other arrows he had in his quiver.

 

He decided to hold on in case he had to shoot at closer threats.

 

“Threat!,” said his whole entourage at once. The cloud of fairies pointed at the big
spinning cloud that denoted a door to another plane of existence. One tugged on his
pointed ear and said threat in such a way to indicate they expected him to hack the
cloud apart from where he was standing.

 

He couldn’t do that on his best day.

 

The cloud separated downrange from where he stood. A giant tree with a crown of
fire stepped out of the cloud. It held up one hand and burned the human in its grip.

 

“She just burned up the Mark,” said one of the magicians.

 

“Hold steady,” projected the spirit in the middle of them. “We have to be ready
to push.”

 

“That’s going to take a lot of pushing,” said the magician.

 

“The Lamplighters are almost ready,” said one of the women. “Ishmael reports
they are putting the last connections together.”

 

He watched the massing trees on the other roof. He knew they wanted to get to
his roof. The magicians here, and at the other roof closer to the cloud, had to be
stopped before they could work their magic. He and the old man were there to make
sure that didn’t happen to the group on this roof.

 

He had just reunited with his princess. He wasn’t going to lose her again.

 

Giants appeared out of the sky. They engaged the giant tree at close range. He
doubted they would do anything, but it was an effective stalling tactic as far as
he was concerned.

 

If they happened to kill the beast, that would make things that much easier for
the gathered magicians.

 

The trees decided to form a bridge to get to his roof. Three braced themselves on
the other roof. The others grabbed each other in a living chain to hurl at him.

 

He drew one of his arrows and rubbed the stone head with his fingers. Frost fogged
the air around it as he drew the missile back on the bow string. He shot one of the
trees in the middle of the chain and watched it freeze over in a coat of ice.

 

The shot trapped the trees in the middle. The one on his end of the bridge grabbed
the rampart to pull itself on the roof.

 

He pulled his sword and hacked off the limbs of the thing before it could pull out
of the grip of its frozen comrades. Then he stabbed it in the face and let the flame
out of its body.

 

The base trees had to haul their frozen links back, or drop them and think of
something else. They decided to drop them to the street below.

He waved at them in a casual salute.

 

He wouldn’t have done that, but he couldn’t fault them for freeing themselves up
for some other scheme.

 

A wingless dragon took shape on the road. He stepped back as it roared its challenge
at the tree. Then it attacked with tooth, claw, and fiery breath.

 

“Marty,” said one of the magicians. “What have you done?”

 

“Ishmael says they are firing,” said Ishmael’s woman. “This might our only chance.”

 

A blue flame ripped through the dark sky above. He blinked and looked away from
the fire as it hooked the roof where the Lamplighters worked to the giant tree. He
didn’t have to check to know the blow had struck home from the reactions of the
magicians in their circle.

 

“Shut the door,” commanded the spirit.

 

The magicians bent their will to the task. With their enemy mortally wounded, there
was nothing to block them. He kept an eye out for trouble as the almost tangible push
washed over him.

 

He spotted more trees coming up on the other roof. These seemed to be armed. He
couldn’t allow them to harm the magicians while they were still working their spell.
He would have to go over and handle things if he wanted to stop the enemy.
‘
He hated to leave the princess, but he had to do this to protect her.

 

He pulled a claw on a rope from his bag. He flicked his wrist and the hook grabbed
a post on the other roof. He yanked on the rope and the cable retracted to the claw.
It dragged him along across the space between buildings.

 

He pulled his sword and sliced around him, using his shield to block blows from the
wooden fists. He had to hold on until the spell was done. After that, the magicians
could deal with things in their own ways.

 

He left chopped bodies around him as he tried to force the trees off the roof. He saw
more of them coming up the access stairs. He would be overwhelmed if he didn’t
retreat.

 

And he couldn’t retreat just yet.

 

He still had to buy time.

 

A glowing woman dropped down in the melee. She flung one of the trees off the
roof with an almost gentle wave of one arm.

 

“Need some help, elf boy?,” said the woman.

 

“YES,” said half of the fairies floating around him.

 

“NO,” said the other half.

 

“It would be appreciated,” he said. He stabbed one of the trees to make sure it
wouldn’t get back into the fight.

 

“That’s good,” said the woman. She smiled as she raised both of her hands. A jet
of blinding light ripped down the access stairs. She stopped after a second to see how
much damage she had done.

 

The inside of the space was melted into a burning heap. None of the reinforcements
remained after the display of power. He took one of his arrows and armed it. He
dropped it down in the glowing mass. Ice covered the display and turned to water,
then to steam.

 

“It’ll be a while before that cools down,” said the woman. “By that time, all of
this will be over, one way or the other.”

 

“Thank you for your assistance,” said the archer.

 

“Thank you,” said the woman. She took to the air in an aura of flame like a miniature
star.

 

He made sure all of his enemies were dead before using the claw and rope to get back
to the magicians. They seemed to be waiting for something to happen.

 

“The rift is closing,” said Ishamael’s woman. “It looks like we won.”

 

The princess smiled as the humans looked dazed by their victory. He admitted he
hadn’t expected their plan to work, but it had. He could add assistance in killing a
practical god to his resume.

 

“Tenacan, this is Mister Multiverse,” said the princess. She indicated the spirit as they
joined the archer where he stood. “He is going to help us to go home.”

 

The archer waited.

 

“I can do this much for you before I leave,” said Mister Multiverse. “I have enough
power to assist you.”

 

“The kingdom will not be as we left it,” warned Tenacan. “We have both been away
for a long time.”

 

“I want to see what’s there,” said the princess. “Will you go with me?”

 

“Yes,” said the archer. “You know I will.”

 

“I wish the both of you the best of luck,” said the spirit. Tenacan noted that the center
spot on his chest linked to another spot on his shoulder. The rest of the lines and
circles moved around until those two spots almost touched.

 

A cloud spun into existence. The princess raised one hand. The signs that she had
gathered together glowed on the back of it. She smiled.

 

“Thank you,” she said. She stepped into the cloud.

 

The archer nodded, made sure his weapons were still ready to draw. He followed her.

 

Mister Multiverse looked around as his map of everything reverted to normal. The
danger was over. He broke apart and scattered into the ley lines of the city, and the
world beyond.

 

[csyphrett]

King of the Wild West

1

Bertram Chandler glared at the small town at the end of the road. The lightning scar
on his forehead gleamed slightly against his dark skin. He decided that he didn’t have
anywhere else to be. He might as well ride in and get a drink before riding on.

 

Chandler had fought off the plantation where he was born, fought for the Union,
fought his way west as a wrangler and scout. He had some money stored away so he
didn’t need a job, but if he picked one to have, he knew he was fighting again.

 

And he was fine with that. It was the one thing he was good at above all else.

 

Chandler flexed his hand as he urged his mount on. He felt the connection to the
white sword he carried. It was his gift in a blade of sharp ivory that could carve
anything, and memories of lives he had used up as stepping stones to where he was
now. He knew that if anything happened to him, the sword would wait for him in his
next life to pick it up again.

 

He was not in a hurry for that to happen.

 

He saw a sign that said Last Stop on the side of the road. He smiled. A lot of towns
had ominous names. He wondered why the townfolk had picked that for their
community.

 

He rode slowly into town. He tried to look harmless. He was just another cowboy
looking for work. He didn’t know if there were ranches around to hire on, but that
was something he could ask about at the local saloon.

 

Chandler rode his horse up to the hitching post of the first drinking establishment he
saw. He could listen to the people as he sipped at whatever rotgut they had. It took
a lot to make him drunk now, and he couldn’t remember being so drunk he didn’t
know which way was up since he took up his blade.

 

He had considered that it was making him immune to alcohol, and the thought hadn’t
bothered him.

 

Chandler tied his reins to the hitching post and gave his horse water from his canteen.
He saw a trough nearby, but it was empty. He didn’t see a water pump for it. Maybe
they didn’t have water coming into town overland.

 

He wondered how the town survived with no water. Did they all drink whiskey and
live off of that? Maybe there were wells that he couldn’t see from the saloon.

 

Water rights could lead to private wars. Ranchers didn’t like to share the limited
commodity when they had to water their herds for market. He might be able to get
work busting up a water monopoly for the other ranchers.

 

He decided to wait and see. There might not be anything here that needed him.

 

His expertise was killing things. There might not be anything that needed killing. The
town looked like it had never seen a gunfight before.

 

He patted his horse down and put his wet hat on his head. He stepped into the saloon.
He tried to look harmless as he walked up to the counter. The scattered crowd gave
him a onceover, but no one said anything. He supposed they had seen enough drifters
coming through that one more wasn’t anything new.

 

He was fine with that. He was there to listen to them talk, not to say much himself.

 

“Can I help you, Mister?,” said the bartender. He was lean and had suffered from acne
from the looks of things when he was younger. He stood away from the bar.

 

“What do you have on the shelf?,” asked Chandler. He could read the labels, but he
wanted the bartender to recommend something.

 

“We have some bourbon, some brandy, some whiskey, a small bit of rum that I can’t
say if it’s good to drink, and some moonshine,” said the bartender.

 

“Let me have a shot of whiskey, and a shot of the moonshine,” said Chandler. “Is
there any work around here?”

 

“There’s a lot at the mining camp,” said the bartender. He pulled two small glasses
from the shelf behind him and put them in front of his customer. He poured whiskey
in one, and the clear moonshine in the other. “Not so much any wrangling, or for
farming. Not enough water.”

 

“You should have something coming down,” said Chandler.

 

“Most of it has dried out,” said the bartender. He pointed in a direction. “They think
the water is blocked upstream somewhere.”

 

“Up at the mining camp?,” asked Chandler.

 

“Beyond there,” said the bartender. “They’re having water problems too.”

 

“Anybody check on it?,” asked Chandler. He knew that was the wrong question by
the way the man’s face closed off. He sipped the whiskey while he waited on an
answer.

 

“Some of the town went up there,” said the bartender. “But they haven’t come back
yet.”

 

“I’m headed up that way,” said Chandler. “I’ll look around while I’m riding.”

 

He sipped the moonshine. He ignored the bigger kick it had. A normal man might
have lost their sight from the toxins in the drink. He was tougher than that.

 

“I wouldn’t sell the moonshine to anyone you liked,” said Chandler. He shook his
head. “You might kill them.”

 

“That bad, huh?,” asked the bartender.

 

“I’ll have to say yes,” said Chandler. “If I see the missing townies, I’ll send them back
to you.”

 

“That would be great,” said the bartender. He took the two empty glasses and washed
them out. He dried them off and put them back on the shelf for the next customer.

 

Chandler headed for the door. His inclination was to ride on and let the town die from
the lack of water. He paused to pet his horse’s neck. What could he do to help things?

 

He decided the bare minimum he could do was try to find where the water was
stopped up. If he could do that and remove the block, the town and mining camp
could argue about who needed the water more.

 

He could try to keep things below a frenzy if the town decided they didn’t need the
miners.

 

He didn’t want to cause a massacre over something where no one was to blame.

He had to take care of his horse before he did anything else.

 

He decided to walk Ulysses down to the local smith and farrier to get feed and more
water if he had it. Then he would pick up the trail and see what had happened to the
water supply. He doubted the town would last long without more coming in.

 

Maybe something like a landslide had closed the streams off. It had been known to
happen. He should be able to break some of the natural dam off with his sword so
the water could flow again.

 

He needed to be careful so he didn’t cause a flood, or another landslide on top of
himself as he worked.

 

The fact that no one had come back from their survey bothered him, but there was
nothing he could do about that. They were either still moving along the dried up
banks, moved on to another town, or had faced some kind of calamity that had
prevented them from coming back.

 

He hoped to find them still exploring the upper reaches of the river and streams so
he could get them back to town without problems. He had seen a lot of death during
the war and after. He wasn’t so hungry for it as he once was.

 

Being the King meant fighting for good, but it was also a burden that couldn’t be
set down until he died, and some future self picked up his sword again.

 

The Destroyer had set his future in stone with one casual flick of its giant hand.

 

Chandler paused at the door to the smithy. He spotted the local smith making a
horseshoe at his anvil. He waited for the man to get done pounding on the red hot
metal and cooling it in a barrel of water next to his forge.

 

“How do you do?,” asked the smith.

 

“I’m fine,” said Chandler. “I’m heading up to follow the river and I wanted to get
some feed and some water for my horse before I went.”

 

“The water is drying up around here,” said the smith. “Some people went up there
a few days ago to look around.”

 

“I expect I’ll run into them on my way,” said Chandler. “The bartender said the
stoppage is above the mining camp.”

 

“That’s right,” said the smith. “Been a lot of trouble up there since they set up. The
sheriff went with the water finders. He left his deputy in town to look after things.”

 

Chandler nodded. The sheriff had formed a posse to go look at things and took some

men with him. His deputy and whomever would look after the town remained behind.
He had seen that after a few bank robberies, or other things, that he had come upon
afterwards in his wanderings.

 

“Since I was riding up there, I thought I would take a look,” said Chandler.

 

“Good luck to you,” said the smith. “How much feed and water do you think you’ll
need?”

 

“I’ll need enough for at least a week of travel,” said Chandler. “I can’t count on
finding a town close by. Some of the ones upstream might have already been
abandoned and left to die if this drought is wide enough.”

 

“Let me get your supplies,” said the smith. “Are you coming back this way?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Chandler. “I doubt it. If I find the block, I plan to either fix it,
or send a note back to tell the town where it is. After that, I plan to ride on to
California, maybe head north toward Canada.”

 

“If you find the problem and fix it, the town will hail you as a hero,” said the smith.
He went back to the back of his work area to barrels crammed into a corner. He
opened one of the barrels and filled three empty sacks taken down from a hook on the
wall. He tied each sack closed and put the lid back on the barrel. He gave Chandler
the sacks to be hung from his saddle.

 

“Let me get a couple of canteens for you,” said the smith. “That should hold your
horse until you find a stream to let him drink from out there.”

 

“Thanks,” said Chandler. “I imagine that there are watering holes out there the closer
we get to the mountains.”

 

“If you go too far north, you’ll be back in the desert again,” said the smith.

Chandler nodded. He had heard some religious people had settled northeast of where
he was. He planned to avoid the place like the plague.

 

He had dealt with enough preachers to not want to run into a city full of them.

“Here’s two canteens full of water for your horse,” said the smith. “You’ll have to
ration them until you find something.”

 

“Thank you,” said Chandler. He fished out a handful of gold dollars and handed them
over. “If I can’t find the problem, you might need to think about where you’ll have
to go from here. There’s a couple of towns east of here that need a smith to look after
their horses.”

 

“I’m going to stick until I run out of water,” said the smith. “Thanks for the advice.”

 

Chandler nodded. He hung the water on the other side of the saddle away from the
feed bags. He needed to grab something to eat, and then he would be headed out of
town.

 

He walked his horse down the dirt road to a little diner built in the front of a house.
He imagined the owner slept in the back while serving in the front. He thought about
what lay ahead and decided he should get his food and ride on before something
happened to hold him in town.

 

He didn’t know how much water the town had, but he didn’t see it lasting long.

 

He stopped in the diner and ordered a few sandwiches and some beer. He drank the
beer at the bar and took his sandwiches in their wrapping and started his journey out
of Last Stop.

[csyphrett]

The King of the Wild West 2

Chandler rode at a slow pace. He wasn’t in a hurry, and he didn’t feel the need to tire
his horse out. It had served him well over the years, and he liked to think that he did
a good job of taking care of it when he could.

 

He decided to bypass the mining camp. He didn’t want any problems with the miners,
and he didn’t have a reason to stop there. It was best for all concerned if he kept
riding and didn’t have to break some idiot’s face for him.

 

Chandler knew there was something inside of him that wouldn’t shy away from
trouble. He had decided long ago that he didn’t need to look for it. It would always
find him wherever he went.

 

It was the burden of being the King. You lived life after life after life but they weren’t
peaceful lives where you died in bed surrounded by the family that you helped create.
Instead you took on one last stand and died in a blaze of glory until you were born
and found your sword again.

 

Chandler spotted the tents and cabins of the mining town off to his right. He kept an
eye on it as he rode up stream from Last Stop. He doubted any one miner would load
up his wagon to come out and ask him questions, but he didn’t want to deal with that
if they did.

 

The King watched the ground ahead after he safely passed the miner camp. He was
sure that whatever was blocking the water would give something to him as a warning.
He doubted a giant beaver had dammed up the river flow.

 

Of course, it could be a giant beaver. He had seen enough examples of weird things
in the world not to rule it out.

 

And he had never seen a beaver that could take a bullet and walk away.

 

He found traces of the posse from Last Stop after a few more hours of riding. They
had set up camp a few days ago north of the mining camp. They had pressed on the
day after from the signs.

 

That looked good. The group had been able to ride on without problems. He might
find them trying to deal with the blockage if he kept on their trail. Once the water
started flowing, they could return to Last Stop as heroes.

 

How far did they have to travel upstream before they found the problem?

 

Chandler thought he might find them in a few more days of riding. They hadn’t
seemed to be in that much of a hurry. He wasn’t either.

 

He figured to take a job on a wagon train heading into California if he caught up with
the posse and nothing was going on. The pay was decent, and people needed a scout
to lead them along.

 

Chandler briefly considered what he would do when he reached California. There
were ships to China. Maybe he could sail on one of those to another land. He felt that
one of his other lives had walked through that continent at one point, or another.

 

He might have crossed the world thousands of times just in being reborn every time
he died.

 

Too bad it left him with a hazy memory of lives long abandoned.

 

He decided to put it out of his mind for the present. He could look back on his lives
when he settled in for some shuteye. Dreams allowed him to do that much when he
couldn’t quite grasp things when he was awake.

 

He could check on places he had been. If China had been one of those places in a
former life, he could try for some other continent where he had never been. He didn’t
mind that at all.

 

He wondered if that was an effect of his unique being for the millionth time. He
decided it didn’t matter. If he felt like traveling, then he could travel as long as he had
a way to get around.

 

Chandler realized that he had ridden miles while thinking of the future. He supposed
that was what happened when you were all alone in the middle of nowhere. He
decided his horse needed a rest if they were going to keep riding north.

 

He had automatically followed the signs of the riders from Last Stop as he traveled.
He was pleased about that. They had kept going past where he was stopping his own
ride.

 

He might catch up with them if they slowed any. If that happened, he had to find a
place to send word back to Last Stop.

 

Then he could think about where he should go from there. California beckoned to
him.

 

Chandler made camp and cooked dinner over a low fire. He fed his horse and
unsaddled him. He rubbed the beast down before tying his reins to an outcrop where
his mount could graze on the sparse grass around. He ate his own dinner, and then
went to sleep.

 

The next day was bound to be more of the same thinking while letting his body do the
rest without worrying about what he should be doing.

 

Eventually he would catch up to the posse either at the obstruction, or on their way
back to their town. He wasn’t worried about that. He doubted he would have trouble
as far as that went.

 

He should be able to cut through any obstruction, as long as there wasn’t a bigger
piece moving on the pile of problems.

 

He dismissed the thought the posse might already be dead. That did him no good, and
he had to see for himself instead of just thinking it.

 

Chandler woke as the sky started lightening in the east. He made breakfast and some
coffee before watering his horse. He put the saddle back on and readied for another
long day of riding.

 

He looked in the distance in the direction he was riding. He didn’t see anything out
of the ordinary. He should be catching up with the other riders today, or tomorrow.
He couldn’t remember a town out this way, but that didn’t mean anything.

 

Towns sprang up around gold and silver and when the material was gone, they
crashed. Finding the remains of a place was not out of the question.

 

He watched the road ahead as he let the horse trot by the dried riverbed. He didn’t see
signs of any other people using the road through the plain. He supposed not many
wanted to ride north when they had every other direction they could go.

 

He spotted a loose horse as he was looking for a place to camp. He stood in his saddle
to use the extra height to look around. He didn’t see a rider.

 

He frowned as he dismounted and started toward the strange horse. The animal pawed
the ground as he approached but settled when he talked to it. It had been scared by
something.

 

That didn’t really mean anything. Horses were skittish by nature. They preferred to
run from bigger animals, and kick smaller ones. It still had on its tack, so it had run
from its owner and left him behind.

 

Chandler went back to his own horse and poured some water from his canteen into
his hat so the strange horse could have something to drink after being out in the desert
for so long. He did the same for his own horse.

 

He supposed that the posse had run into some kind of ambush ahead. Should he go
ahead before dark, or wait until daylight? He decided that waiting until he could see
was better at the moment. There were plenty of things that hunted in the night that
could see better than him.

 

It also meant he would have to be on guard for the next few nights until he found out
what happened. He put the thought away. He knew that was bound to happen if there
was trouble.

 

People didn’t disappear without some kind of reason.

 

Chandler decided to have a cold dinner out of his supplies. He didn’t unsaddle his
horse, or the strange horse either. He might have to ride out at a moment’s notice. He
didn’t want to fool with a saddle in an emergency.

 

He doubted a person was involved unless they happened to miss the horse as it ran
away. He supposed that was possible, but thought the horse had just ran away when
it could. That meant something scary was ahead.

 

He decided to go ahead. He debated leaving both horses behind. There might be a
need for one ahead, but he didn’t want to run into something and lose the horse.

 

He had to risk it. A fast getaway was better than being stuck on foot and running for
his life. He hated thinking that this might get his horse killed. He had got the horse
years ago and it had been a trusted companion ever since.

 

“We’re going to try to sneak up on this problem,” Chandler told the animals. “Then
we’re going to see what we can do.”

 

He expected the problem was more serious than what he had thought when he had
stopped in Last Stop. Finding a horse without a rider qualified as something going on
in his opinion.

 

Something lay ahead. He hoped that the posse had not been killed to a man just trying
to find out what had shut off the water to the region.

 

Chandler loaded his pipe and smoked the tobacco up before he tried to get some sleep
on the blanket from his saddle bag. He made sure he could draw his pistol and sword
without too much effort before settling in.

 

Things happened in the night. He wanted to be ready just in case.

 

Chandler woke the next day. Both horses were where he left them, cropping some
grass. He cooked a small breakfast for himself, then fed and watered the horses. He
cleaned up the camp and made ready to ride. He had time to think as he continued
along the dried up river bed.

 

Chandler watched the area around him. Signs would point out things to him so he
could be careful. An ambush made sense to him. He just didn’t see any place where
it could happen.

 

The terrain had some slight hills but for the most part lay flat. Vegetation was just
as scarce as the variety of ground. He saw some rocks but he didn’t see any sign of
horses around them.

 

The strange horse grew nervous the more they rode along the river. He found some
grass and left it to crop what it wanted. He didn’t want a horse that would cause
problems while he was trying to figure out what was going on.

 

His own horse seemed a little nervy, but had gone into enough situations with him
that it trusted him to get them through whatever lay ahead.

 

Chandler pushed forward, scanning the area. A pile of rocks drew his attention. They
were right where the river should be flowing. He doubted a landslide had caused that.

He found the mummy next. He dismounted to get a better look. Something had dried
out a man in his clothes, and dropped him to the ground when it was done.

 

Chandler twisted his wrist and the bone white sword of the King dropped into his
hand. He needed to look around before there was trouble for him that he couldn’t
overcome.

 

The King marched forward, sword in hand.

[csyphrett]

loaded on Royal Road

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/43053/sara-flowers-and-the-devils-checkerboard

[csyphrett]

The King of the Wild West 3

Chandler didn’t like the mummy. It spoke of the unnatural. The desert could dry a
man out like that, but not in a few days.

 

Something had waited up ahead and took all the water from its victim. He could be
walking close to his next life at the moment. He decided to press ahead. He had
nothing to gain by going back and reporting failure.

 

If he could save one of the men and open the waterway, that would satisfy any self
imposed rules he lived under. Then he could move on to the next thing with a clear
conscience.

 

He debated what he should do about the block in the waterway. He decided that he
didn’t know what would happen if he cut the whole dam away, but he could put holes
in it to let the water pass.

 

Chandler stabbed the blockage in several places. Water poured out of the holes and
dropped into the dry riverbed. The ground would soak any of the small streams up
before it got big enough to get to Last Stop.

 

He worked his way around the natural obstruction, noting the way things were
stacked up. It just confirmed his first thoughts that someone had put the dam there to
seize the water.

 

Where had the water been diverted? Once he knew that, he knew where to go to fix
the problem.

 

Chandler found a big hole yards beyond the dam he had punctured. It descended
straight down into the ground. Water from the river poured over the edge and
vanished into the darkness.

 

A vertical shaft looked bad for exploring. He looked down. Light played on the water
at the bottom of the new cavern. Did the posse go down there?

 

Chandler examined the walls of the shaft. He noted pieces had been ripped out of
the stone. He could use that for handholds if he was careful.

 

He didn’t see any rope to show that the posse had done the same thing. He wondered
if something was at the bottom of the giant well. He also wondered how it liked
snoopers.

 

He supposed he should look around down at the bottom of the pit. He decided it
would be better to knock the dam out of the way. Maybe the water flowing away
would draw out the culprit.

 

Why go down in the other’s dark domain when you could face it in the sunlight?

 

Chandler went back to the dam. The holes he had poked produced streams of water
like natural fountains. He picked one and drew an x through it with his sword. He
stepped back as the water came through the sudden weakness and pulled part of the
wall down. The liquid cascaded away to the gasping towns along the river.

 

He watched the water crowd up on the banks. Anyone caught downstream would be
in for a surprise. He couldn’t help that. He had to decide how long he would wait
before he went into the ground after whatever had diverted the water.

 

Some of the flow still moved toward the hole. Could he cut that off? Would that
speed things up?

 

What would happen if he cut around the edge of the hole and pushed that rim down
inside the well?

 

The water could form a lake over any type of plug he might be able to construct like
that. It would be better if he had something to just drop down on top of the gap.

He looked around. He saw rocks in the distance. He knew there was no way he could
move the bigger ones he needed by himself.

 

He was strong, but he wasn’t that strong.

 

He decided that he should try to cut the rim back and drop whatever he could into the
water. Whatever was down there would dig up through his obstruction to get the
water flowing again. Maybe he would be able to deal with it then.

 

If it was too big for him, he would be on to his next life unless it could stop the
endless jumping through time. He expected that his gift was too much for the ordinary
sort of monster he ran into on his travels.

 

Memories of other lives indicated he had dealt with this sort of thing more than once.
He had allies to help him if he could find them. Should he retreat and come back with
someone who could drag the thing out of its hole?

 

How many would die if he did leave the thing out in the desert?

 

Chandler took his white sword and dug it into the ground at an angle. He walked
around the rim of the opening until he ended up where he started. The circlet didn’t
move. He cut a wedge out of it and let that drop away. The rest slowly fell after it.

It wasn’t enough. He needed a lot more of the shaft to collapse if he wanted to stop
the water from reaching the bottom.

 

He lowered himself on his belly to reach to the edge of the shelf he had created. The
surface was too smooth for handholds now. He dug his sword in again and worked
his way around the edge of the hole. It was a long process but he had nothing but
time.

 

Eventually he was able to cut what he could reach away. He watched it drop down
inside the hole. He didn’t think it was enough.

 

Something moved at the bottom of the well. He got to a knee as he watched the water.
He doubted it was one of the posse members getting ready to tell him to stop
dropping rocks into the hole.

 

He wondered how big it was. He doubted his old Remington would do anything
against anything bigger than a cat.

 

He put aside any second guessing as he moved back from the hole. He had been
appointed the champion of humanity. He had a lot of responsibility. If he lost,
someone else would have to take up the fight.

 

The ground trembled slightly. He stepped back a few more yards. He guessed
his adversary was gigantic.

 

Boneless limbs emerged from the hole. They gripped the ground with mouths built
into claws. A white body rose next. It reminded Chandler of a worm. It didn’t have
eyes as far as he could tell.

 

He supposed it must track its enemies through sound, or touch. He remained still and
the thing did not approach him.

 

It dragged its bulk toward the water. Tentacles reached around and began placing
rocks in the water to direct the flow back to the hole in the ground.

 

Chandler didn’t like the odds if he went after the thing. He was fast, but he didn’t
think he was as fast as the giant tentacles reaching around and placing boulders like
they were bricks.

 

He needed something like dynamite if he wanted to do anything to that thing.

 

He could ride to the mining camp and ride back to the hole if they had dynamite he
could use. Did he have time? Would the camp still be there? He doubted he had
secured enough of a water supply to keep anyone hanging on.

 

Last Stop and the towns around it would probably be dead unless he could keep
the water running for more than the two hours since he had destroyed the dam.

The gallons that had already flowed wouldn’t do much in his opinion.

 

He frowned as he considered his options. None of them looked good. He should
wait until the thing went back into the ground, break this dam, and ride back down
river to get the supplies he needed.

 

The digger turned toward where he had left his horse. The animal must have
done something. The thing started to rear up.

 

Chandler grimaced. He had no choice now. If he wanted to make it out of the desert,
he needed his horse. He couldn’t let this thing eat it.

 

The King picked a spot he thought he could hit with his sword. He leaped the distance
instead of running. He felt that running would attract the creature’s attention sooner
than he wanted. He stabbed the monster high in its body and dragged the sword
down until he touched the ground.

 

Chandler stepped out of the way of the bile and parts of things that came out of the
cut he had made. The stink was something he would take with him until the end of
his series of lives.

 

The beast turned at the sudden attack. Its tentacles whipped around. He didn’t move.

A sound escaped it. Blood poured from his ears. The horses neighed and turned to
flee. The beast turned toward them. The movement it detected must have been what
hurt it.

 

The water hoarder exploded from the pit, rushing after the running animals. Once
it had wrapped its tentacles around the annoying things, it could heal in the water
and restore itself.

 

Chandler stuck out his sword as it passed. He braced himself against the ground,
but was pushed back by the mass he was slicing through. His victim curled up
in pain from the sudden injury.

 

He swiped his sword in the air to shake off the internal liquids of the beast. He
saw that it was trying to reach the pit. He supposed it was too weak to dig another
hole.

 

He decided to step back and let it go. He didn’t have the resources to deal with it. If
he was a little stronger, he might be more pressed to continue the fight until the thing
was dead. Wounding it to buy time had to be enough for the moment.

 

He watched the creature drag itself to its hole and drop down inside. He hoped it
would die down there, but he wasn’t going down after it if he didn’t have a need.

If the posse ran into that thing, he doubted they had survived. There was nothing
he could do about that.

 

Chandler sliced through the rock making up the dam and slid what he could out of
the way. He watched the water push on the barrier for a moment before slicing the
biggest rocks into smaller ones to make the passage easier.

 

He put the sword away as he walked downstream. He hoped his horse hadn’t been in
the river bed when he renewed the flood. He needed to ride back to Last Stop, or the
mining camp, and come back with something he could use to close that hole.

 

He hoped he was wrong about the posse. Maybe they had kept riding to find someone
who could blast the dam open for them. He doubted they had magical swords that
could slice through anything.

 

He was going to go back and inform the town he didn’t see them. That was the very
least he could do for them.

 

If they showed up later, that was fine in his opinion. A celebration would probably
be thrown. He doubted he should wait for that to happen.

 

The thing in the pit might be able to grow back the things he had cut through. He
would like to return with dynamite before it healed enough to make another dam.
Then he would have to feed it the explosive.

 

He had days to think of a way to do that. Maybe he could trick it into thinking it was
something alive and good to eat.

 

He found the horses after a few minutes of walking. They seemed fine after their
panic attack. They shied away from him when he approached. He realized that he had
some of the beast on his hands and shirt. He needed to wash up before his horse
would carry him back to civilization.

 

He put his pistol and boots on the river bank and jumped into the river. He let the cold
water wash over him for a few minutes. He climbed out and lay down. He could take
a nap before he started south.

 

He had done a bit of work for no pay.
 

[csyphrett]

The King of the Wild West

4

It had taken Chandler a few weeks to deal with the hole in the ground. Once he was
done, he could move on his way.

 

The first thing he did was load the mummy on the recovered horse. He made sure to
wrap it in a blanket before placing it over the saddle. He didn’t want it to come apart
on the ride back.

 

He rode back to Last Stop, found whomever was the law with the sheriff gone, and
explained how he had found the mummy and horse. He didn’t tell the deputy about
the monster. That would have been unbelievable.

 

He had then requested as much gunpowder and dynamite the miners could spare. The
reasoning he gave them was caving in the hole to keep the water flowing to them and
the neighboring town so they could do their business.

 

He wasn’t going to explain that he planned to shut the hole on the monster because
he wasn’t sure if it was dead, and he wasn’t going down in its den to find out. It
would be enough to just shut the hole and let it dig somewhere else when it healed up.

On the other hand, closing the hole would keep the river from turning and going back
to the hole and drying the town and miner camp out.

 

The miners gave him a wagon full of explosives and showed him how to arm the
various fuses and basic what not to do so he wouldn’t blow himself up. They asked
him to return the wagon when he was done.

 

He gave them some extra money for the wagon. He didn’t plan to bring it back.

 

Chandler lit the fuse and pushed the wagon into the hole. Once the front wheels were
over the edge, he pushed the bottom forward until gravity took over. He let the wagon
fall out of sight. Then he ran to where he had left his horse and the draft horses that
had pulled the wagon for him cropping some kind of tough grass.

 

He grabbed their reins and traces and led them away from the hole as fast as he could.
He was not familiar with how much of an explosion he was going to cause. He hoped
that a shallow cave-in would be the result.

 

The gunpowder and dynamite going off shook the area. Dust jumped up in the air as
he fled. He kept his feet, pulling his horses to run with him. The ground next to the
hole collapsed down. Water from the river rushed into the depression.

 

Chandler kept running until he was sure the collapsing tunnels wouldn’t reach him.
He stopped and looked back. He nodded. It wasn’t perfect but it was the best he could
do at the moment.

 

His bomb blast had created a lake with the river filling it up as it rushed down toward
Last Stop. Maybe that would help the water beast somehow, but it wasn’t his concern
unless he came back through this way and it was still trying to get more water for its
domain.

 

The explosion might have killed it with the collapsing ground. He wasn’t going to dig
down and make sure. That would take the rest of this life and maybe a few more
besides. It was better to walk away now with a temporary win, and come back if he
had to later.

 

Maybe if he saw one of his contemporaries, he could pass on the word to keep an eye
on things in the area.

 

He patted his horses down and made sure his supplies were still intact. He had to take
the draft horses back to the mining camp where they were needed to pull equipment
in place.

 

He took one more look around. He wouldn’t say it was a job well done, but it was
done. He hoped future generations enjoyed the lake if the beast was really dead. He
could see it being a trap for the unwary if the thing still lived.

 

He mounted and rode south, pulling the draft horses behind him. He arrived in the
mining camp after another few days camping out under the stars. He found the
foreman and handed the horses back, with some extra dollars to cover any expenses.

 

He decided to stop in town and get a drink before he headed back out. He still had to
head back north like he planned and then west. This detour had cost him some time.

He walked into the saloon where he started this adventure. It was more crowded,
more lively, and full of people who had some hope given back to them. He walked
to the bar, looking around at the mob.

 

The bartender waved him down to the end. A glass with whiskey waited for him on
the counter.

 

“What happened?,” asked the bartender.

 

“I don’t know what happened to the sheriff and the rest of the men he took up north,”
said Chandler. “Didn’t see them. I don’t know what happened to the dead man I
brought back and turned over to the deputy for burial.”

 

He had a good idea based on what he had seen, but he wasn’t going to tell anyone
that.

 

You just didn’t say that a monster feeding on water might have dragged a posse of
men to their doom when they went to interfere with its dam, and actually left one of
the victims out because it forgot to drag the body away, or was reaching for the horse
after the snack. The horse was just faster to run away than the man.

 

Maybe the horse left its rider to his doom.

 

If that happened, that was a smarter horse than most.

 

“The gossips are saying that you took a lot of dynamite back north,” said the
bartender.

 

“There was a big hole in the ground up there,” said Chandler. “Now, it’s a lake next
to the river. If it stays like that, your problem should be solved.”

 

“What if it doesn’t stay like that?,” asked the bartender.

 

“Send for the Calvary and tell them to bring all the cannons they can,” said Chandler.

“Can I have another shot? I have to be moving along.”

 

“The town needs a new sheriff,” said the bartender. He poured another splash of
whiskey into the glass.

 

“I’m not ready to settle down anywhere yet, and I attract trouble,” said Chandler.

“There’s a place up north I have to see before too much longer. I might sail out to see
what I can see.”

 

“Good luck with that,” said the bartender. “You saved the town. People won’t forget.”

 

“They won’t even know,” said Chandler. He downed the drink in a gulp. “Hold me
a spot for the next time I come through. Get better whiskey.”

 

Chandler turned and walked out of the saloon. He pulled his hat down and gathered
the reins of his horse. He mounted and pointed his horse north again.

 

The horse expressed its opinion.

 

“I know,” said Chandler. He smiled. “But we’re not coming back this time.”

 

The horse flicked its ear in disbelief.

 

“Trust me,” said Chandler. “We’ve done all we can. The rest is up to the town to put
everything together. Hopefully they will have something else when the silver runs
out.”

 

The King let his horse set the pace. He wasn’t in a hurry. If the animal wanted to walk
the whole way, he was good with that.

 

Eventually they would run into something else that needed his touch. It was fate.

He dwelled on old memories as he rode out of the town. He drifted by the mining
camp without a thought. He reached the limit of the habitation and kept going.

 

He figured he would make camp when the horse refused to walk any more. He could
roll up in a blanket and sleep without eating one night on the road. A hearty breakfast
in the morning would fix any hunger and get him ready to get back on the road.

 

It wouldn’t be the first time.

 

The moon was high in the sky when the horse picked a place it didn’t want to leave.
Chandler gave it some of the feed he had packed, and some water. Then he pulled the
saddle off and used that for a pillow as he settled in on the ground.

 

He watched the sky, wondering what the future would bring. Would he keep walking
the world when everything else had crumbled away to nothing around him? Would
he find what he was looking for in that unknown time? Would he be the last one left
out of his contemporaries?

 

He talked things over with himself as he waited for sleep to take him to the land of
memory. Maybe he would see his descendants there. Some of his lives had produced
offspring. He didn’t know where every one of them happened to be in the world. He
thought he would know them when he saw them thanks to his special dispensation.

He smiled as he drifted away.

 

He had walked the world, life to life for thousands of years. He saw no end in sight
for him. The best he could do was keep walking, try to fix any problem he could,
defend humanity from things that shouldn’t be there.

 

Moving into dreams, he saw his lives stretch out behind him from the original King
of a forgotten people who had been destroyed by a hand from another reality to who
he was now. He didn’t see his next life, but felt it coming closer. He would be
stepping into it soon. He could feel it.

 

That wasn’t his concern.

 

He already knew the curse of the King was to die fighting. It had pursued him all
of his life so far. From slavery, to war, to banditry and revenge as the West was
opened for settlers against the Indians, he had already put down a number of bad men
who needed it. Going down in battle against a menace to the world was the most he
could expect.

 

He knew the rest of his lives would be doing more of the same. Humanity hadn’t
really changed all that much from when his kingdom had existed. It had just changed
the tools it used to go about its business.

 

On the other hand, he hadn’t changed that much over the years either.

[csyphrett]

1965-

1

Doctor Dale Strangehold pulled his Packard to the curb away from the police line. He
sat back in his seat. He wondered why he had been called. He imagined the scene
must be out of the ordinary in some way. He checked his pocket watch. He had time
before he had to meet his grandchildren.

 

Timmy and Tooty had afterschool activities at their school. And the school was far
enough away from his house that he was obliged to pick them up.

 

He admitted that he had never considered having children living with him before he
had met the siblings. He had kept an eye on his relatives from afar, and when their
parents died, he offered to take them in as a relative so they didn’t have to go to an
orphanage, or foster parents.

 

Sometimes he wondered if he made the right decision.

 

He got out of the car. He didn’t have time to regret decisions in the past. He had lived
a few hundred years and had enough regrets to fill a stack of books. Now he had to
be sharp. Later he could think about things over some port and trace back how he
arrived at this point in his elderly life.

 

He straightened his jacket and frilly shirt cuffs and headed for the policemen keeping
people away from whatever had happened. One of the patrolmen, Acuff, recognized
him and waved him through.

 

He headed inside an apartment building of brick and concrete. He counted four rows
of windows and figured at least four floors with two apartments on either side of the
central staircase. He found another set of doors on the other side of the staircase when
he looked at the front hall. So twelve apartments were in the building. He looked over
to his left. A rack of mail slots confirmed twelve residences.

 

“Third floor,” said a patrolman on guard at the bottom of the staircase. “Three Bee.”

 

“Thank you,” said Strangehold. The police presence was more than he usually saw.
He wondered what made this case stand out. He headed upstairs.

 

Three detectives stood in the hall. They had reams of notes in their hands. One noted
Strangehold and waved him to their circle. The door to the crime scene blocked its
contents from view.

 

“How’s it going, Doc?,” said Sergeant Roscoe Burly. He chewed on a small stogie
as he looked down at his notes.

 

“It’s fine, Sergeant,” said Strangehold. He nodded at the younger detectives. He knew
they didn’t want to call him. He could see it in their eyes. They wanted to solve this,
and get the credit. Burly, on the force for twenty years, joining up right after the war,
carrying a little bit more weight from that twenty years and a little less hair, didn’t
care about credit at this point. He was never going to get promoted any higher so it
was easier to call a consultant to get a leg up than flounder on a murder that might
never get solved otherwise.

 

And certain experiences had made Burly swifter than other police to call when
something was weirder than usual.

 

“It’s a murder, Doc,” said Burly. “I need your impression of the crime scene, and
anything you can give us.”

 

“All right,” said Strangehold. “Have your technicians already gone through
everything?”

 

“Yep,” said Burly. “We had to move the rest of the body out before you got here.
You’ll understand when you see the scene.”

 

“All right,” said Strangehold. “I’ll have to look at it when I’m done here.”

 

“I got you clearance with Fern,” said Burly. “He’ll be waiting for you down at the
morgue.”

 

Strangehold nodded. Fern was the head of the coroners that serviced the city and
county. He would share whatever findings without comment.

 

Burly opened the door for his consultant to step into the crime scene. The doctor
winced at the damage from the door before stepping in and taking a good look
around. He shook his head at the wreck of an apartment.

 

He could see why the sergeant had called him. This looked like the work of a
monster. And he dealt with monsters as part of his advocation.

 

Strangehold looked everything over, careful not to step in any splashed blood. He
expected the victim to be missing one limb at least. He examined the wrecked
furniture and decided that the victim might have tried to fight back, but maybe was
used as some kind of bludgeon.

 

Vampires and werewolves were neater than this for the most part.

 

He concentrated for a moment. Currents of life stroked the air. Pieces of goo floated
around him. He watched as they assembled themselves into the last few visitors and
went about their last acts in the apartment. Then he saw the beast ripping the place
apart, and thought the victim never had a chance against the thing.

 

The thing went to the door and shrank into someone else that the victim had opened
the door to admit. The image was a blur to the doctor.

 

He frowned. The murderer had knocked on the door and looked nonthreatening to the
victim until the attack. Was it a planned attack, or something that had come through
some casual encounter?

 

The obvious motive seemed like hunger. The problem was a hungry monster usually
didn’t knock on the door of their victim’s home and attack before walking away.
Something like that usually attacked more than one victim.

 

A vampire was capable of doing such a thing, but they left far less blood than this.

Matter of fact, the smarter ones rarely left a body anymore.

 

He stepped out of the crime scene. He didn’t have much to go on. He should look at
the body. He checked his pocket watch. He needed to pick up the kids pretty soon.

What did he tell Burly? The sergeant was going to try to track this person down. That
would lead to a confrontation with the other half. Would silver bullets help in this
case? It couldn’t hurt since a long line of monsters wouldn’t survive silver entering
their body.

 

Would the monster think that the police had an expert on the scene?

 

He probably counted on his human disguise to protect him. No one suspected the
small man of ripping a big man’s arm off. It defied nature.

 

He reviewed the scene one more time before checking his pocket watch. He had to
get moving if he didn’t want to be late to pick up the kids.

 

He could talk to Fern after dropping them off at the house.

 

“Did you get anything?,” Burly asked when he stepped outside in the hall.

 

“The murderer knocked on the door, and appeared nonthreatening to the resident,”
said Strangehold. “He commenced his attack as soon as the resident opened the door.
The actual murder took place in the living room next to the door. The rest of the scene
comes from the brawl and the eating.”

 

“Some kind of werewolf?,” asked Burly.

 

“I don’t know, but it could change its look almost immediately,” said Strangehold.
“You don’t see that with most werewolves.”

 

“What do you think about the mask side of things?,” asked Burly.

 

“A small human,” Strangehold said. “I couldn’t tell the gender. There wasn’t enough
in the air for that. I wouldn’t let anyone approach if I were you.”

 

“I’ll put the word out they shouldn’t approach,” said Burly. “That might make the
beat patrolmen cautious enough to save their lives.”

 

“If this thing comes at them, they won’t have time to shoot before they get ripped up,”
cautioned Strangehold. “We’ve seen the speed of these things. And if they are
immune to regular bullets, a man has no chance.”

 

“Don’t worry,” said Burly. “The whole department will be aware that we are looking
for a small murderer and to keep their distance.”

 

“I have to pick up my grandchildren,” said Strangehold. “I’ll talk to Fern afterwards.
I can’t imagine he missed anything with a scene like this.”

 

“I have to get the machine running,” said Burly. “I’ll call if something shows up.”

 

“This might not be the last victim,” said Strangehold. “If he lives in the city, he might
be looking for another victim right now. We have no idea how much time between
kills we have.”

 

“That’s not great,” said Burly. “I’ll make sure you’re called when another scene is
discovered.”

 

Strangehold nodded. There were bound to be other victims. That was what usually
followed a scene like the one he had just examined. A panic would lead to accidental
deaths, and murders disguised as what he had seen. There was nothing he could do
about any of that until he amassed enough clues from the crime scenes to point them
at one monster.

 

He hoped he could find out how the monster decided its victims with the next victim.
That would allow him to spring some kind of trap eventually.

 

A dumb monster always picked a central ground to hunt. That made it easier to hunt
back. A smart monster hunted according to what it wanted.

 

Strangehold walked back to his Packard. He had bought the car right before the
second world war. It had carried him into battle for two decades. It would carry him
another two decades if he was careful with it.

 

He got behind the wheel and drove to Timmy and Tooty’s school. He still had plenty
of time, so avoided pushing his car to its limit. The rest of the night had been decided
for him. He had to drop them off at home, then talk to Fern.

 

He might circle back to the crime scene and see if he could pick up anything else.
That would allow him to throw a net out so he could grasp some kind of trail.

 

He doubted that would do anything but you never knew. Sometimes something was
overlooked. And that gave you a trail to follow back to your monster.

 

He certainly was not going to call Burly if he did find the trail. They didn’t need to
know what had happened until it was over. Letting them trail him around would just
put them in danger while he was trying to deal with his adversary.

 

The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for was dead policemen.

 

He pulled to a stop in front of Middleton Middle School and checked his watch. He
was a little bit early. That was fine.

 

He wondered what his grandchildren thought of him. They probably thought he was
an old duffer that needed to do more than consult on medical and police mysteries.
He smiled at that. He had thought the same about his own parents when he was
learning medicine, and how to navigate the world on his own.

 

Tooty came out, waving at him. She had a duffel bag of school books and required
material for her classes. She had decided to join the band for her extracurricular
activity.

 

Strangehold got out and opened the trunk of the Packard. He placed the bag in
and made strapped it down.

 

“What homework do you have to do?,” he asked.

 

“I have a lot of reading to do,” said Tooty. She climbed in the back. “Have you
thought of getting a new car?”

 

“No,” said Strangehold. “They don’t make them like this any more. A friend of mine
made sure that it’s tougher than the cars that are on the road now.”

 

“I guess that’s okay,” said Tooty. “Why does it have to be tougher?”

 

“So I can ram monsters and kill them,” said Strangehold. “What kind of reading do
you have to do?”

 

“Oliver Twist,” said Tooty.

 

“The orphan child that makes good and ends better than he started,” said Strangehold.

 

“Did you have to read when you were growing up?,” asked Tooty.

 

“Yes,” said Strangehold. “We had to read the Latin version of the Aeneid.”

 

“What’s that?,” asked Tooty.

 

“It’s the story of how survivors of Troy founded Rome,” said the doctor. He checked
his pocket watch. “I have to do a visitation. Can you two look out for yourselves
until I get home?”

 

“Sure,” said Tooty. “I’m teaching Tim how to cook.”

 

“That’s good,” said Strangehold. “How is he doing?”

 

“He could be way better,” said the granddaughter. “Still, he knows how to scramble
eggs now.”

 

“All right,” said the doctor. “Here he comes. Let me take you two home, then I have
to visit Doctor Fern.”

 

Strangehold went and opened the trunk for Tim’s much smaller bag. He made sure
it was strapped down so it wouldn’t move. His grandson got in the back seat beside
his sister.

 

Strangehold got behind the wheel and headed for home. Once, he had the kids
situated, he still had to drive across town to the morgue.

 

He doubted that the coroner would be able to tell him something that he hadn’t
already seen with his viewing. Still he wanted to be sure. Ectoplasm didn’t always
duplicate everything as evidenced by the way the human side had blurred out before
and after the attack.

 

There might have been some kind of physical evidence he could use to track his
quarry down.

 

He might need to load his blunderbuss if he wanted to face this thing without police
assistance. His ability helped him, but he doubted it would stand up to the type of
onslaught he had been called in to investigate.

 

He might need to see if he had silver bullets laying around when he got home.

 

“Working for the cops again?,” asked Timmy. He leaned back in the backseat.

 

“Someone was murdered in a way that suggested I needed to be consulted,” said
Strangehold. “I’m hoping Doctor Fern saw something I didn’t.”

 

“Do you need us to help out?,” asked Timmy.

 

“No,” said Strangehold. “Part of our agreement was for you not to get involved in
what I do and have a normal life.”

 

“I know,” said Timmy. “But I still have the bat. It would be great for this.”

 

“I would rather you carry on the family name,” said Strangehold. “In a few years,
we’ll talk about possible apprenticing, but monster hunting scars people. It’s not
something you should do on a whim.”

[csyphrett]

Doctor Strangehold, Ectoplasmic Detective

1965-

2

Doctor Strangehold parked his car outside of the medical examiner’s office. The square block of a building sat next to Middleton University’s Medical School, and the hospital the university used to train their students. A few visits to the morgue went with that.

 

Strangehold frequently visited both to keep his training up so he could keep his license as a doctor. He admitted he had forgotten more old techniques with the advent of newer practices.

 

The guard on duty waved him through to the working part of the morgue. He nodded as he walked back to the colder part of the building.

 

“Strangehold,” said Doctor Robert Fern. He had on an apron and hair protector. “Burly said this was one of your cases.”

 

“How bad does it look, Robert,” said Strangehold. He knew it was bad from his reading and from the way Fern winced at the question.

 

“It’s worse than some of the car accidents I have seen,” said Fern. He waved for his visitor to follow him back to where the bodies were kept in a walk-in refrigerator before they were released, or turned over to the city for burial. “The autopsy was short because of what I had to work with.”

 

Strangehold nodded. The cause of death was obvious. The only thing that needed to be reported were physical injuries. The injuries themselves would look like some kind of animal attack.

 

It would be put down as a big animal like a grizzly, or some kind of panther. The speed of the attack would be unknown to Fern so he would only think about some kind of wild animal, or an escaped zoo animal. He would never think of anything like a werewolf, or a skinwearer.

 

Before Stranghold started hunting monsters, he would have never thought about anything like that either. Time and experience had changed his position. It was hard to deny something, when you had killed its cousin several times.

 

Fern opened the refrigerator. He led the way down the rows of shelves full of bags. He paused beside one and checked the tag. He opened it up and stepped back. Strangehold looked at the remains of a body in the bag. It was hard to tell if it had even started out human. He noted the remaining arm and hand. He frowned at the
damage. Not even werewolves did this much damage.

 

“This is the worst I have ever seen,” said Strangehold. He stepped back from the bag. “I have seen several attacks like this, but nothing so drastic.”

 

“I know,” said Fern. He closed the bag up. “Whatever did that was moving fast. That and that it was big are the only things I can testify to in court. The rest is pure guesswork.”

 

“I have to agree,” said Strangehold. “Most animal attacks I have seen aren’t that thorough. Usually to get to that requires days, and a horde of scavengers raiding the body.”

 

“How did a wild animal get to the guy’s apartment to do that?,” said Fern.

 

“I’m going to say somebody brought it in the building, and took it with them when they left,” said Strangehold. “I have to do some errands, and then check on my grandchildren. I’ll let you know if I find anything to contradict your findings.”

 

“Good luck with that,” said Fern. He followed his colleague out of the freezer. He locked it down with a padlock when they were both outside.

 

Strangehold nodded as he walked down the hall. He wouldn’t be bringing any evidence to show what they were dealing with to be given to the general public. He would simply go about his business and make sure Burly found enough evidence to close the case.

 

The culprit would never see the inside of a human court the way things looked at the moment.

 

Strangehold got into his car and drove back to the apartment building. There was a chance there was enough ectoplasm left in the scene to give him some kind of clue.

He needed more to put a face on his quarry.

 

He parked where he had parked when he had first arrived at the apartment. The sun had gone down, and dark shadows dominated the street in a way that made the street lights look dim.

 

He went inside and headed up to the apartment. He tried the knob. Burly had locked the scene up to keep out rubberneckers. He thought that was a good precaution in case their culprit came back for whatever reason.

He summoned up the free floating ectoplasm in the air. It was enough to summon his extra arms. He concentrated on the lock. One of his spongy hands squeezed into the lock. He felt around until he was sure he could push the tumblers out of the way.

 

He stepped inside the apartment and started going over everything with his normal senses first. Nothing had changed as far as he could tell. He didn’t envy the person having to clean this up and trying to get rid of the smell.

 

He exhaled a breath. Solid wisps danced through the air. He concentrated on the door. He needed a clearer view of the murderer before the change. He could get a picture for Burly to post as part of a newscast.

 

He frowned as the ectoplasm warped when it reached the door. It refused to give him anything more than a blank. He had seen that before. Usually the person was also using ectoplasm in some way.

 

Maybe it was someone creating a monster from inside. Ectoplasm could be used to build a body.

 

It put a more human motive on the murder, unless the murderer was a cannibal instead of someone using a weird murder method. He would have to look at people who knew the victim and work his way outward. Somewhere they had crossed paths. He just needed to find that point and work his way back to the killer.

 

Burly would have a small background check done by now. He should get a list of names from the detective and start working on it.

 

Just because he had killed his target, that didn’t mean he would stop.

 

And being human didn’t stop him from being a monster that needed to be put down.

 

Strangehold pulled in his ectoplasm. He should see if Burly was still at his station house. Then he needed to get home. He had to check on the kids to make sure they had their homework done.

 

He could start looking around for his murderer in the daytime.

 

He locked the apartment behind him, and walked down to his car. He checked his pocketwatch as he went. He had time to check in with Burly, and get home before the kids’ bedtime.

 

Should he just try to call from the house?

 

He decided to drive by the station on the way home. It wasn’t that far out of his way. If Burly wasn’t there, he would try again in the morning.

 

He got behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb. He crossed the center of town, pulling in a visitor’s slot in front of the station. He headed inside, waving at the desk sergeant. The detective squad had a room upstairs they used as an office. He doubted everyone would be out on calls.

 

He pushed into the squadroom, taking in officers working on cases. He knew they would be heading home as soon as they finished their reports. He spotted Burly in a little office in the back of the room. He was typing up a report on the typewriter the city had given him when he made detective.

 

Strangehold walked back to the office and knocked on the frame of the opened door.

Burly waved him in.

 

“I don’t have long, Sergeant,” said the doctor. “Do you have a list of colleagues for the victim? I’m going to have to look at them in the morning.”

 

“The only thing I got for Crenshaw is his workplace,” said Burly. “The landlord said he didn’t have anyone over ever. Went out every night.”

 

“We’re dealing with someone who wanted him dead,” said Strangehold. “I did another examination of the apartment. We’re looking at a person who can manipulate the air. The monster was an affect instead of something you would see in the wild.”

 

Strangehold didn’t want to get into an explanation of ectoplasm, how it worked, and what it could be used for in the hands of an expert like himself. He didn’t have the time, and Burly didn’t really care.

 

“That’s good and bad,” said Burly. “It’s good because he might stop with this one murder, and let things die down. It’s bad because he might do it again and we have no idea who he is and what he wants.”

 

“Without a motive, we have nothing,” said Strangehold. “The weird manner of the murder strikes me as significant, but I can’t see how it’s much better than a gun. I guess it confuses the issue which can only help our suspect.”

 

“It also narrows things down for us too,” said Burly. “The only thing we have on the victim is his name is Adam Crenshaw. He lived at the apartment building for the last ten years. He worked for a printing service. No wants, nothing more than a traffic ticket on his record. Never been married. I don’t have a line on relatives yet. He might
not have any.”

 

“So we have to start at the printing service if we want to find out why he was killed,” said Strangehold. “I guess I can go by tomorrow and look around.”

 

“We’ll go by,” said Burly. “They don’t have to talk to either one of us, but at least I can get a warrant and seize anything we might need.”

 

“That’s fine,” said Strangehold. “If we trigger our murderer, I would suggest you move away from the scene. You don’t want to get in the way if he can stop bullets from going through his monster.”

 

“Silver bullets?,” asked Burly.

 

“They might not work,” said Strangehold. “On the other hand, they can’t hurt either.”

 

“All right,” said Burly. “So looking around and asking questions at the printing service is the next step.”

 

“They might have a contact to call in his personnel file. That will help us find any relatives,” said Strangehold. “If he has anybody, they should know they won’t be able to see him again.”

 

“Good idea,” said Burly. “I have to type in this status report, and then I’m done for the day.”

 

“I have to get home and check on the kids,” said Strangehold. “I don’t want them to have problems because I am chasing things in the dark.”

 

“I know,” said Burly. “I’ll pick you up in the morning, and then we’ll hit the printing company. It should be a snap.”

 

“You know better than that,” said Strangehold. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

He made his way out of the station. He put the problem out of his mind. He didn’t have anything to work on except he was facing another ectoplasm user. Methods to disrupt the process could be used.

 

Strangehold drove home, listening to a station specializing in classical music. When he was younger, he never imagined this piece would be with him so far in the future. He didn’t think that it would last longer than his generation as new people were born and forgot what had happened before.

 

It was funny how life worked out.

 

He pulled the Packard into the garage he had constructed behind the main house. It had started as a cottage, but he had added on to the building until it loomed over the street. When he had settled in, there hadn’t been that many houses around. Now they stretched as far as the eye could see.

 

He entered the back of the house. The kids had toasted sandwiches on plates, and milk. He raised eyebrows at the dinner.

 

“I’m teaching Tim how not to burn baloney,” said Tooty. She picked up a chopped section of her dinner and took a bite.

 

“I see,” said Strangehold. “Homework?”

 

“Still working on it,” said Tooty.

 

“Done,” said Tim.

 

“Do you need a review?,” asked Strangehold.

 

“Mrs. Franks will go over it tomorrow,” said Tim. He took a bite out of one of his sandwiches. “Any mistakes I made will be corrected in class.”

 

“All right,” said Strangehold. “I’m done for the day. I have to go out with Burly and talk to some people tomorrow. So far we have nothing to go on in this case.”

 

“Is it bad?,” asked Tooty.

 

“I don’t know,” said Strangehold. “It’s a weird murder weapon for sure. I haven’t seen anything quite like it.”

 

“We can help out,” said Timmy.

 

“No,” said Strangehold. “There’s nothing to help with at the moment. I have no idea how to find this person at the moment. And you still have to be ready for school tomorrow. I’ll let you know if I need help with anything.”

 

“I never get to have any fun,” said Timmy.

 

“And you never will,” said Tooty.

[csyphrett]

Dr Strangehold, Ectoplasmic Detective

3-

Strangehold took the kids to an early breakfast at a diner on the way to school. He bundled them out at the school, making sure they were ready to go. Then he drove home and retired to his meditation room at the top of his house.

 

He needed to take a minute to get ready for his day. He reached inside and charged up the ectoplasm he used to keep his longevity. He knew that it would eventually fade to being unuseful and he would start aging again. There was nothing he could do about that. He had to concentrate on helping others in the amount of time he had left.

He at least wanted to hang on to see his grandchildren reach adulthood and head out on their own without him.

 

Once he was recharged, he made sure he was presentable. He made himself a cup of coffee as he watched for Sergeant Burly to arrive. He hoped there wasn’t any problems at Crenshaw’s employer.

 

They needed some kind of lead to their killer, and his work might be the only way to get it. His home hadn’t provided any clue.

 

The only fact that helped them eliminate suspects was that he didn’t have visitors. So how had his killer found him. That put something of an onus on the people in the apartment building.

 

Either one of them knew enough to create the ectoplasmic disguise, or they didn’t.

 

Once the visit to the printing service was over, he would have to go back to the apartment building and go over it again with an eye for that detail.

 

The other thing was that Crenshaw never stayed home. Where did he go night after night? If they knew that, that would give them a suspect pool while eliminating other people.

 

Strangehold would have to look into places around the building that catered to the night life. There was a chance that he was driving across town. People did that, but usually with a goal in mind.

 

He had a mental list of what they needed to know. He had no way to find any of that out unless he tried to use ectoplasm to trail Crenshaw around on his nightly wanderings.

 

That would be something if he could do it, but he doubted there would be enough traces in the air to give him a viable picture. Too many people would have already passed through where Crenshaw went and mixed their own traces in.

 

Ectoplasm was good for a lot of things as a manifestation of energy from inside a person’s body. Tracking people across the city was not one of them unless something was added to the mix.

 

Strangehold washed his cup out when he saw the unmarked sedan pull up in front of his house. He walked back through and stepped outside as Burly got out of the car. The sergeant nodded.

 

“I looked this place up on a city map,” said Burly. “It’s out in the sticks.”

 

“The faster we get this done, the better it will be,” said Strangehold. “I still have to pick up the kids after school.”

 

“I called Crenshaw’s bank before coming out here,” said Burly. He got back in the car and waited for Strangehold to get in. “They won’t let me have a thing without a warrant. I’m going to have to get one to see if he was spending money he wasn’t supposed to have.”

 

“I doubt this was a stranger killing,” said Strangehold. “The signs point to someone he knew. So someone at his building, his work, or wherever he went every night has to be the murderer. If we had some kind of motive, we could pinpoint who, but the only motive I can see is personal hate for the victim which seems odd.”

 

“Why odd?,” said Burly.

 

“According to the manager of his building, he was never home,” said Strangehold. “Who did he encounter in there that hated him so much when he never saw anyone? In my experience, neighbor issues are brought about by people rubbing against each other.”

 

“So his coworkers and anybody at his watering hole are his prime suspects,” said Burly.

 

“We’ll find out why when we have enough evidence to point at who,” said Strangehold. “The real problem is will we be able to prove things in a court. I can prove ectoplasm is real, but I can’t make someone cough it up on demand.”

 

“So we need something that will prove conclusive guilt without bringing in the giant disguise bit,” said Burly. “That’s going to be a hard sell for the D.A.”

 

“It’s worse than you think,” said Strangehold.

 

“How can it be worse than what I think?,” asked Burly.

 

“The person we are looking for will be physically unable to do the damage we saw,” said Strangehold. “The defense will want us to prove that the culprit could rip a man apart.”

 

“And that’s going to be impossible to do, isn’t it?,” said Burly.

 

“And dangerous to try,” said Strangehold. “The murderer can create his effect almost instantaneously which could be bad for us if we do uncover his real identity.”

 

Burly didn’t need that spelled out. He had seen enough to know he was being advised to shoot first if he ran into a giant thing, and just take retirement after he explained why he had been afraid of someone smaller than him.

The department might cover it up, but he would be done if he spouted off about a giant monster disguise that vanished when the wearer was dead.

 

He drove on in silence. Worrying about retirement meant little if he didn’t live to see it.

 

Burly pulled into the parking lot of the Frakes Printing Company and parked. The building was a gray cube with a rampart of red with the company name in giant white letters. The only windows were in the front, next to the glass front door.

 

“I hope this guy had some friends,” said Burly. “We could use something beyond what we got right now.”

 

“I hope he had someone who is an obvious enemy so we know who had the most reason to kill him,” said Strangehold.

 

“I doubt he will be wearing a sign,” said Burly. “I’m a murderer. Arrest me.”

 

“We can’t make the policeman’s job easier,” said Strangehold. He led the way to the front door. He hoped he didn’t have to fight a duel in the middle of a crowd of people. Someone was bound to be hurt.

 

“How you doing?,” said Burly to the front lady. He showed her his badge. “Is your boss in? We have some questions about an employee.”

 

“I’ll have to call the office,” said the counter person. “He might be walking the floor.”

 

“Go ahead,” said Burly. “We’ll probably need to talk to someone in Personnel also.”

 

She called up from the desk. She talked to whomever was on the other end for a minute, then nodded to herself. She concluded with I’ll send them right up before hanging up the phone.

 

“Mildred said Mister Frakes is upstairs in his office,” said the counter lady. “She said she would tell him that you were coming up.”

 

“Thank you very much,” said Burly. He smiled, and they walked behind the counter, through the door separating the public area from the work space. The detective followed the signs to a set of concrete and metal stairs leading to a box above the machines and crews on the floor.

 

They spotted a woman behind a desk through a window that ran around the cube. She waved for them to step inside. They did, noticing how much quieter the office was compared to the floor below.

 

“Mister Frakes is waiting for you,” said the secretary. “Go inside.”

 

Burly pushed open the door and they stepped inside an office that had a great view of the floor below and the ceiling. Frakes looked like a pear on legs with half his hair gone, and the rest looking for a life boat. He stood behind his desk.

 

“Hello,” said Burly. “I’m Sergeant Burly. This is Doctor Strangehold. We’re here to talk to you about Allan Crenshaw. We were wondering what you could tell us about him.”

 

“Crenshaw worked in the design office on the other side of the facility,” said Frakes. “I don’t know a lot about him. I don’t really remember any complaints from his supervisor. What is this about?”

 

“Mister Crenshaw was killed at his home,” said Burly. “We’re trying to find out what we can about him. His neighbors appear to have never seen him more than a few minutes at a time.”

 

“Ed Dorsey is the design head,” said Frakes. “He would be Crenshaw’s direct supervisor.”

 

“Can we talk to him?,” said Burly. He made a note in his pad. “Also we would like to look at Crenshaw’s file. We need to know if he had any relatives that need to be called.”

 

“I’ll have Mildred pull it,” said Frakes. He backed the words with a call to his secretary. “How did Crenshaw die?”

 

“We’re still trying to find what the murder weapon was,” said Burly. “You’ve never seen the man?”

 

“Not since I went over his application with him,” said Frakes. “He came from HPU with a degree in design work. His only recommendation was his professor. Dorsey would have called to let me know if there was a problem, or if he was going to fire the guy.”

 

Mildred came in with the file. She handed it off to Frakes before leaving. He handed it to Burly. The detective did a quick scan. He handed it to Strangehold before pulling out his notebook and pen.

 

“You said his only recommendation was his professor’s?,” said Burly. “Do you happen to remember the name?”

 

“It was Coley I think,” said Frakes. “I asked him why he didn’t have anyone else. He said this was his first try at a job in the field. His professor was the only one who would vouch for him.”

 

Strangehold scanned the thin file and frowned at the lack of information there. He and Burly had already uncovered most of this at the crime scene. There wasn’t even a next of kin listed in case something happened to him on the job.

 

“We would like to talk to Mister Dorsey, and see if he can tell us anything,” said Burly. “We might have more questions later. I’m not sure right now since we’re just starting our investigation.”

 

“I’ll be glad to help you any way I can,” said Frakes. “I’ll call down to let Ed know you’re on the way.”

 

“Thanks,” said Burly.

 

Strangehold handed the file back. He discarded Frakes as a suspect just on his appearance. They needed someone slimmer, and shorter.

 

A disguise might be possible, but he was sure he would sense the ectoplasm being urged to settle in place.

 

[csyphrett]

Dr Strangehold, Ectoplasmic Detective

4-

Strangehold and Burly looked the work area over as they walked through to the private office set aside for the manager of the section, Ed Dorsey. He stood at the door and waited for them to cross the distance.

 

The doctor judged he was thin enough, but too tall. They were looking for someone shorter in height.

 

Some of the people working at their design tables might fit the bill, but they were all sitting down and it was hard to say how tall they were. He doubted he could ask them all to stand up so he could measure them against a door frame.

 

They had to rule out everyone they could while they were there. Then they could work on the ones that fit the body type of the killer.

 

Then trying to figure out a way to trap the killer would have to be done.

 

Strangehold let Burly ask Dorsey the normal questions. He didn’t have a lot himself. He was more concerned checking for ectoplasm in the air.

 

Free floating ectoplasm could be from anything. He could narrow it down to something specific to tie to someone. Strands of the stuff around someone in particular was a good indicator that person was his murderer.

 

That wasn’t that great an indicator if the culprit had learned to hide his energy gathering from others. All it would take was internal storage with the body covering the esoteric material with his own life.

 

Burly asked to see the victim’s desk. Maybe there was something there they could use. Dorsey agreed to the search. He had nothing against Crenshaw, and the boss wanted him to help out.

 

The dead man’s desk was covered with pictures of clubs. Some had men with musical instruments. Strangehold ran his hand through the air in front of the photos. Nothing leaped out at him.

 

Burly took notes about the desk as he sat in the dead man’s chair. He made sure to copy any names he found in the small rolodex on a file cabinet.

 

“Some of these clubs have closed,” said Burly. “Bought out, or closed down by the city.”

 

“This could be where he was spending his time at night,” said Strangehold. “I wonder how good a musician he was. I didn’t see an instrument in his apartment.”

 

“Why was he keeping it away from his neighbors?,” said Burly. “Would they care that he was a musician? Would that even be a problem?”

 

“We could be looking for some kind of rival at one of these clubs,” said Strangehold. “He could have been ruining some other player just by playing.”

 

“And they rip the guy to pieces?,” said Burly.

 

“It depends on how they started powering their ectoplasm to make their disguise,” said Strangehold. “We might be looking for someone who uses these masks for different things like playing music, or athletics, or even medicine like myself.”

 

“So instead of a werewolf, we might be looking for a Lon Chaney?,” said Burly. “I don’t think I like that at all.”

 

“It will make things more difficult,” admitted the doctor. “I need to check these clubs. If I can identify the murderer, maybe we can construct a trap for him.”

 

“What are you doing at Allan’s desk?,” asked a woman coming down the aisle with a cup of coffee in her hand.

 

“I’m Sergeant Burly from the police department,” said the detective. “Mister Crenshaw had an accident and we’re trying to determine what happened. Can I have your name?”

 

“I’m Lisa Raye,” said the woman. She put the cup down on a nearby desk before she dropped it. “I’m a storyboarder here at the printer. I draw cartoons to show the advertisers what a commercial would look like if we did one. I also do graphic art for signs and things.”

 

“Television ads?,” asked Burly.

 

“I know it seems confusing but the company does all kinds of ads for everything,” said Raye. “We do ads for television, the radio, newspapers, magazine inserts, anything that comes our way. There is a small studio for the television and radio stuff a few blocks over.”

 

“Did Mister Crenshaw work on any of those?,” asked Burly.

 

“He played music for some of the radio ads,” said Raye. “He is a trumpeter.”

 

“Have you known Mister Crenshaw long?,” asked Burly. He leaned against the desk.

 

“Just the two years he’s worked here,” said Raye. “He’s a good draftsman, and great at coming up with ideas to match what Mister Dorsey asks for as far as the customer wants.”

 

“His neighbors said he was never home,” said Strangehold. “Did he talk to you about that?”

 

“He liked playing at some of the clubs,” said Raye. “He said he was just good enough to sit in on a jam session, but not good enough to start his own band.”

 

“We’re still at the start of our investigation and don’t really know much about Mister Crenshaw,” said Burly. “Is there any club he sat in regularly? We’ll need to talk to the people there to see if they know anything.”

 

“I don’t understand,” said Raye. “I thought this was an accident.”

 

“Right now, we don’t know what happened, why it happened, or if Mister Crenshaw had any life outside of this building,” said Burly. “We don’t know what he was doing before he was hurt, or if anyone saw him get hurt in the first place. So we have to dig into his personal stuff a little to see if there was anything untoward going on.”

 

“Allan can’t tell you what happened?,” asked Raye.

 

“No, he can’t,” said Burly. “Until he can, we have to act like he never will be able to tell us and look around. And if he can tell us at a later date, that will make it easier because we’ll have looked in that direction already.”

 

“I see,” said Raye. “He liked playing at the Note and Robin’s Nest.”

 

She pointed at cards for the clubs on Crenshaw’s desk.

 

“He was supposed to go to the Note’s next open mike night,” said Raye. “I heard him talking to himself about what song he should play.”

 

“Is there anyone else we can talk to for more information?,” asked Burly.

 

“Allan didn’t talk to other people that much,” said Raye. “He told me he found it hard to talk about himself. The only reason I know about the music is Mister Dorsey asked for volunteers for the radio ad, and he jumped at the chance.”

 

“And he was good enough to keep doing that?,” asked Strangehold.

 

“I think so,” said Raye. “I never got to go over myself. I wanted to, but I had deadlines with my own work. I did go to the Note one night and watched him play. He sounded better than the others that were trying out.”

 

“Thank you for your help,” said Burly. “If I need to talk to you again, I can call you here?”

 

“I have a card,” said Raye. “The company gave us a stack of them instead of a raise last year.”

 

She went to her desk and opened the top drawer. She pulled out a deck of cards in a box. She took one of the cards out and handed it to Burly before putting the box back in the drawer.

 

“Thanks again,” said Burly. He put the card in his coat pocket.

 

“What are you going to do now?,” asked Raye.

 

“We’re going to go down and talk to the people at these clubs and see if they know anything about Mister Crenshaw,” said Burly. “When you have nothing, anything is good.”

 

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Raye,” said Strangehold. “Thank you for your time.”

 

“I don’t remember your name,” said Raye. She frowned at the doctor in his Edwardian clothes.

 

“Doctor Dale Strangehold,” said the doctor. “But I think we have taken enough of your time. We have more work to do before we can put things to rest.”

 

Strangehold and Burly left for the door. The detective made notes in his notebook. He made sure to tell Dorsey to keep the victim’s desk like it was in case they had to return for something else.

 

And he had put a paperclip in the crack of the drawer in case he wanted to know if someone had searched the desk after their visit. A detective showing up might cause all kinds of reactions.

 

“What do you know about these clubs, Burly?,” asked Strangehold as they left the building.

 

“The Note is still going strong down by the Theaters,” said Burly. He frowned at the memory stirred by the other club. “The Robin’s Nest was where the Caulder murders happened, and it’s been closed since then.”

 

“Gangland shootout?,” asked Strangehold. He had not been called in on that one. It wasn’t strange enough to need his talents according to the police department, and what he read in the papers.

 

“Yeah,” said Burly. “We never caught the guys either. No one wanted to come forward to give statements. The Caulders had a million holes in them from the looks of things. The word was their turf went to Sunny Castione, but someone whacked him too. Things started settling down after that.”

 

“Do you mind if we look at the Nest?,” said Strangehold. “I have time before I have to pick up the kids after school.”

 

“Do you think you can solve the murders?,” asked Burly.

 

“Not after all this time,” said Strangehold. “I’m just interested in why Crenshaw was going there when it has been closed for years.”

 

“Good point,” said Burly. “He might be related to the Caulders somehow. Apparently he didn’t have family, and neither did they, but someone must have brought him into this world.”

 

“There may be a connection with Sunny Castione,” said Strangehold. “We don’t know enough about Crenshaw to put those pieces together yet.”

 

“The only other lead I can see is the professor,” said Burly.

 

“We may have to talk to him eventually, but right now we should look at the Nest, then see if we can dig up anything around the Caulders, or Castione,” said Strangehold. “There may be a connection between them and Crenshaw, or the killer.”

 

“Maybe if he was hanging around the Nest, he dug up something no one wanted dug up,” said Burly. “But it’s a stretch.”

 

“We’re not exactly drowning in clues,” said Strangehold. “We need something to point us in the right direction. If we can explain where Crenshaw was going, it might point to motive for the crime.”

 

“Maybe he saw something at the Nest he wasn’t supposed to,” said Burly. “Maybe he saw a ghost.”

 

“That’s possible,” said Strangehold. “Maybe he saw the person who killed him practicing with his gift.”

 

“I like that as a motive if the guy didn’t want people reporting him,” said Burly.

 

“I like it too,” said Strangehold. “But why practice there other than it’s abandoned? It would be better to practice in a place that allowed for secrecy.”

 

“Maybe he doesn’t have a place like that,” pointed out Burly. “Maybe the Nest is the only place he can practice at all. Protecting that would be enough to kill someone over if things escalated from words to fists.”

 

“All right,” said Strangehold. “That’s a possibility. We just don’t know enough about what is going on.”

 

“So we go down to these clubs and see if anyone knows if Crenshaw had a problem with the other musicians, or patrons,” said Burly. “Then I have to write up what we have so far, and you have to get the kids.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” said Strangehold.

 

“And I will be home for George Burns,” said Burly. “That’s the best part of all this.”

 

“And I have classes to get ready for in the next two days,” said Strangehold. “We’re going over the heart.”

 

“I will take a rain check on that,” said Burly. “Have fun.”

 

“Teaching is a reward in itself if you have the right students,” said Strangehold.

 

“What about the wrong students?,” asked the sergeant.

 

“You fail them and wish them the best of luck in their future endeavors,” said Strangehold.

 

“I can see that,” said Burly.

 

They got in the car and drove out of the parking lot. Burly aimed for a section of town off the main roads where Downtown congregated. Smaller buildings and houses dotted the landscape. He pulled to the curb in front of a brick building with boarded over windows. A frame for a sign stood empty over the sidewalk.

 

“This is where the Nest used to be,” said Burly. He gestured at the deserted building. “I doubt Crenshaw broke in there every night.”

 

“If you don’t mind, I would like to go in and look around,” said Strangehold. “Sometimes what you see isn’t what’s actually going on.”

 

“Okay,” said Burly. “I don’t think we need a warrant to snoop around.”

 

“Who would we serve such a paper to at this date?,” asked Strangehold. “If we need to seize something, we can check who owns the building then.”

 

“Good point,” said Burly.

 

They got out of the car and approached the former club.
 

[csyphrett]

Doctor Strangehold, Ectoplasmic Detective

5

1965

Strangehold examined the front door. If the victim was using that door, he had a key.
He couldn’t find any signs of forced entry. He tried the door, and nodded at it being
locked.

 

“So he didn’t use this door, or he had a key,” said the doctor. “Let’s see if the back
entrance has been used.”

 

“Maybe he was meeting someone who did have a key,” said Burly.

 

“A possibility,” conceded Strangehold. He started walking down the narrow ally next
to the former bar. “Once we confirm it, we’ll have someone we can consider a suspect
which is more than what we have now.”

 

And they had precious little at the moment.

 

The doctor examined the back door. He didn’t see any damage to the lock, or door.
He tried the handle. Locked.

 

“So he had a key, or a way inside that left no damage to the lock,” said Strangehold.
He put his hand over the lock, and summoned a strand of ectoplasm. He twisted his
wrist, and the strand did the same inside the lock, moving all the tumblers out of the
way so he could open the door with his other hand.

 

Burly pulled a small flashlight out of his jacket pocket. He sent a beam into the dim
kitchen area ahead of them.

 

The doctor looked on the wall and found three switches. He tried them all. No lights
snapped on. No one had kept up the power.

 

“It looks clean,” said Burly. “Maybe the lady was wrong about Crenshaw coming
here.”

 

“Let’s look at the other rooms,” said Strangehold. “Did anyone clean up after the
shooting you told me about?”

 

“I don’t have any idea,” said Burly.

 

Strangehold nodded. Someone might have cleaned the place up after the shooting.
The fact that the club still stood abandoned might come from the victims and their
cohort.

 

They walked into the dining room and stage area of the club. A bar stood in front of
the kitchen. Chandeliers had been put in, but they were dusty. Furniture and pictures
had long been moved out.

 

“Someone has been here,” said Strangehold. “The floor is clean of dust, the area
around the bar also.”

 

“Whomever was here left their bottle,” said Burly. He pointed to a lone bottle of
whiskey standing by itself where there should have been much more stored for use.

 

“So what do we know from our looking around?,” asked Strangehold. He turned in
a circle, examining the room.

 

“We know someone has been in here,” said Burly. “We can surmise it was our victim
and at least one other person. Someone was drinking a little at least. That might not
be Crenshaw. He didn’t have any alcohol at his place.”

 

“We also know that Crenshaw told his coworker he came here to play,” said Strangehold. He knelt and studied the floor. “No chairs, but there is an impression of a box.”

 

“Maybe it’s a case of some kind,” said Burly. “That goes with carrying an
instrument.”

 

“I agree,” said Strangehold. “Who did he play with here?”

 

“Good question,” said Burly.

 

Strangehold raised a hand. He felt connections reach into the room and draw forth a
fuzzy mist of yellow. He frowned. Someone had been practicing their skill, and
draining the local life out of things.

 

“Our man was here at least some of the time,” said Strangehold. He tried to throw up
an image. A sketchy silhouette emerged and then vanished. “But there’s not enough
to tell us who he is.”

 

“Another musician, maybe?,” asked Burly.

 

“Maybe, or a fan,” said Strangehold. He released the ectoplasm and let it fade back
into the background.

 

“I can see that,” said Burly. “Who knew about the music part of this?”

 

“The people on the print company’s orchestra, anybody at the other club, and anyone
Crenshaw told,” said Strangehold.

 

“It’s a pool but it’s not as big as the entire city,” said Burly. “You would never know
a bunch of guys were killed in here.”

 

“That’s something strange too,” said the doctor. “Let’s look at the other club. Maybe
we’ll stir up something there.”

 

“I know,” said Burly. “I feel like this is the more important place. The victim was
here. The murderer was here. The other club could just be an off the books hustle.”

 

“We still have to rule it out,” said Strangehold. “I don’t like how low the ectoplasm
is. Our murderer might have used it all up on his mask.”

 

“So he comes in here and drains off what he needs?,” asked Burly.

 

“Or he drained it from Crenshaw while Crenshaw played his instrument,” said
Strangehold. “Ectoplasm is from the living. And someone who knew how could
transfer life from someone else to himself.”

 

Strangehold didn’t mention that the more living beings, the more ectoplasm would
be in the air. The more people around, the more that could be drained and used.

 

The murderer could be operating out of the other club, and Crenshaw had followed
him back to this one and saw something that he shouldn’t have. It suggested a motive,
but he would have to rule any others out as they went.

 

The ectoplasm angle just complicated things. If it wasn’t present, he would have been
able to actually see the murderer going about his business. And Crenshaw didn’t seem
to be a practitioner to be killed in the way he had been killed.

 

He agreed with Burly that the deserted building seemed the more important place, but
they should check on the other club. If ectoplasm was at both clubs, that would
indicate their killer was at both clubs, moving among the musicians and staff without
a problem.

 

If they could hook anyone to Crenshaw, that would give them someone to check on
until something better came along.

 

His main consideration was the more people around, the bigger the flow of ectoplasm
that could be present. And that would obscure things in its own way.

 

“Let’s see about this other club,” said Strangehold. “I will still have to pick up the
twins after we’re done.”

 

“I’ll check with the uniforms in the area about any lights being on in here,” said
Burly. “I doubt they saw anything, but we might get lucky.”

 

“We’re looking for someone slender and short,” said Strangehold. “If he wore some
kind of mask, we won’t get an accurate description of what he was actually wearing,
or what he looks like.”

 

“Slender and short won’t get us much other than a starting point on whomever
Crenshaw had hanging around when he played,” said Burly.

 

“I know,” said Strangehold. “The mask pulled all of the natural energy in the room
to it, but I think the blur I saw was a second effect.”

 

“What do you mean?,” asked Burly.

 

“It’s possible that when our murderer powered up his disguise, he used a splash effect
to keep from being recognized,” said Strangehold. “Not many people think of doing
that.”

 

“So he becomes Bigfoot while using that to make sure no one can get a good look at
him?,” asked Burly.

 

“I’m pretty sure that’s what he did,” said the doctor. “We’ll have to catch him in the
act to prove it.”

 

“Which means we’ll have to figure out who he is and trap him somehow,” said Burly.
He led the way to the back door.

 

“And trying to spring the trap will have its own dangers,” said Strangehold. He took
one last look around as he followed his friend out of the closed club.

 

Burly made sure the triplock was thrown before they stepped outside. They might
need to come back, but why leave the door open to anybody but their quarry.

And he might miss their footprints in the dust. They might be able to identify him
with a simple stakeout if they were patient enough.

 

If he did see the prints, he would know someone had already tracked the club down.
He might decide to set up somewhere else.

 

Burly wanted to get the guy, but he didn’t see a way from where they were. He
glanced at the doctor. The man rubbed his chin as he thought. The detective shrugged
a little. The other club was the only other place with someone who knew the victim.

Maybe they would get lucky and find someone who knew Crenshaw and the
musicians he played with enough to jump start the case.

 

If they couldn’t find out anything, he doubted that any of his suspects would open up
and confess to the deed.

 

It would make his job that much easier if the criminals would do that.

 

Strangehold locked the club up again and followed the sergeant around to his car. He
decided to come back in the night. Maybe the doctor would stumble over his quarry
while he was recruiting another musician to supply him with ectoplasm.

 

If they found the same thing at the other club, he might be able to keep watch for a
draining operation going on. That might lead him to his murderer.

 

It would also make any battle problematic.

 

If they started using ectoplasmic abilities in a crowd, it might kill some of the frailer
people around. Ectoplasm had to come from somewhere. Some people didn’t have
enough life to support having some of it pulled from them so it could be used as
weapons.

 

If he tried to pin the other down long enough for Burly to shoot his enemy, the
chances were someone would drop dead from the loss of their life energy.

 

He needed to prevent any problems from cropping up in the middle of a crowd. If his
enemy was smart, that would be the perfect area for him to attack.

 

And the murderer’s mask would be able to run until he had drained all of the nearby
sources of their ectoplasm.

 

Burly drove them across the city to the other club. They got out and inspected the
outside. The place was closed until five. The crew hadn’t come in to start preparing
for the night yet.

 

“I have to pick up the twins,” said Strangehold. He extended his sense out to feel the
outside of the building. He noted some cold spots. “I think our murderer came here
too. I’m going to come by and take the place in after it opens.”

 

“All right,” said Burly. “I’ll drop you off and come back and talk to some of the staff.
Maybe they saw something.”

 

“Try not to alert him,” said Strangehold. “If he starts using his ability in the middle
of the club, it could be a disaster.”

 

“Don’t worry,” said the detective. “I plan to just come by and see if anyone can give
me a description of anyone they knew hung out with Crenshaw. I plan to avoid
looking at anyone.”

 

“Try not to be alone,” said Strangehold. “He might wait to try to kill you if there are
a bunch of witnesses he has to deal with too. I wouldn’t count on it.”

 

“That makes me feel better,” said Burly.

[csyphrett]

Doctor Strangehold, Ectoplasmic Detective

6

1965-

Doctor Strangehold picked up the twins a little later than he had planned. He inquired
about their days as he tried to push his current case out of his mind. Maybe some
connection would present itself if he didn’t think about it too hard.

 

Tooty felt she had aced her tests and was doing better with her afterschool program.
She was on the bench until someone couldn’t play. She didn’t claim to be better than
the other girls on her team, but the doctor felt she was.

 

Timmy was playing. He couldn’t wait until the first game. He thought he could hit
home runs on the school field. He didn’t know how good he was doing in his classes.
He admitted he didn’t have an interest in most of the subjects.

 

Strangehold warned him that he had to do well academically if he wanted to keep
going with his sport. He didn’t want to get kicked off the team because he didn’t
understand his studies.

 

Timmy assured him he would be a better monster hunter than baseball player any day
of the week.

 

The doctor was not amused by that assertion, and assured his grandchild that all the
great monster hunters knew a little about everything, some of them knowing
everything about one thing. Timmy would do well to follow their example and learn
everything he could while he could.

 

Timmy didn’t seem convinced by the argument, but said he would do the best he
could.

 

The family had a quiet meal, went over homework, and planned for the next day.
Strangehold still had to teach the next day despite the crime he was working on.
Maybe he could use it as an example of a strange death, and use that as some sort of
test.

 

He doubted anyone would think an ectoplasmic monster was involved.

After the twins were in bed, and he had set measures in place, the doctor drove down
to the Note. He wanted to look at the place for himself before he marked it down as
harmless.

 

He had decided that if his murderer was on the scene, he would try to keep any
mayhem down. He didn’t want a crowd of civilians getting in his way while his
enemy could act as he pleased.

 

Threatening to rip off someone’s arm would put the onus on Strangehold on how he
could proceed without letting that person suffer amputation by manual manipulation.

And the doctor was not sure he could win a duel with the murderer. His mask was
superhumanly strong and fast. He would need a lot of luck to beat anyone like that
who was ready for him.

 

He pulled into the parking reserved for that area. All he had to do was look around,
maybe trace some ectoplasm. He should be ready to fight, but it was possible that the
murderer had moved on, or waiting for the police to give up before he came back.

 

Strangehold got out of his car and went to the club door. The first step was to walk
in and order something to drink, or eat. After that he would play it by ear.

 

The doctor paid the booth girl, and nodded at the doorman holding the door for him
to step inside the club. Music drifted over him as he looked around for a place to sit.

 

He saw a small table on one side of the room. It was just out of the overhead lights
shining down on the space. He took the spot and watched the room for anything that
might be a clue.

 

Small tendrils that could have been smoke drifted in the room. Some of them wrapped
around the patrons with one end drifting in the air.

 

Strangehold frowned at the sight. Someone was farming ectoplasm in plain sight. He
decided to wait. He couldn’t tell who the culprit was so there was no point in
exposing himself.

 

He did make sure to fake the loss of his own ectoplasm. He didn’t want his enemy to
know that another medium was in the audience.

 

His consideration was based on the physical mask. If someone created something like
that in the middle of the audience, some of the bystanders would simply die. The rest
might be weakened. And the mask was strong enough to rip a man apart in a few
seconds. There was no telling how many would get hurt in a melee like that.

 

If he ran into the murderer here at the club, his best tactic was try to move the fight
outside and stop the drain of ectoplasm from the bystanders that would be on the
street. Once he had cut off the flow, he could just wear the other magician down with
his own reserve.

 

He hoped it would be that easy, but he had seen enough plans going askew because
his enemy decided on something he would have never considered doing himself.

 

And this enemy had already shown he liked to make things personal.

 

Why had he killed the victim? Strangehold felt if he knew that, the rest would drop
into his hands. He would be thinking of ways to arrest the murderer and prove that
he had committed the crime instead of trying to figure out who he was.

 

He listened to the music. He frowned as the ectoplasm grew around him. More of it
drifted away. The idea that Crenshaw had played the same song and generated the
same manifestation crossed his mind. Were they partners? Did the one partner cut the
other out when he was no longer useful?

 

He liked that as a possible explanation of events, but it didn’t bring him closer to a
solution unless the partner was somewhere in the club and collecting the ectoplasm
for his own use.

 

Strangehold reached out with his senses. The ectoplasm flowed out of the room.
Some of the people slumped in their chairs. He stood up. He needed to do something
to put a stop to this.

 

He reached out with his own ectoplasm and used the four tentacular arms he created
to touch each of the victims around him. They woke up and sucked in their ectoplasm
with a gasp. The move caused the drain to stutter. He stretched his four arms out and
worked on everyone in the room from where he stood until everyone seemed to be
back to normal.

 

He decided the music had to go. He could hear the notes in the ectoplasm he touched.
And that explained why Crenshaw had been selected as a pawn in the game.

 

The music put the unwary into a trance. It regulated the flow of ectoplasm from the
victim to the thief. And once a band started playing it, a single musician wasn’t
necessary if he knew what was going on and didn’t like it.

 

And now it came down to what he would do now that someone had stepped in and
stopped his recharging for the moment. Would he come out on the center stage, or try
to hide in the shadows? A physical match up was the expected outcome of his
interference.

 

He still had to shut off the music and look around. He had questions that they could
answer about the music and if anyone hired them to perform, or if they were given the 
song and asked to play.

 

Strangehold decided the quickest way to stop the music was cut the power. Then he
could usher everyone out of the club before he tried to hunt his quarry down. There
was no doubt in his mind that the killer was near, maybe as close as the next room
behind the stage, or in the alley beyond that.

 

He had to work fast if he wanted to catch the man once the lights went out.

 

Then he realized he had no way to cut the power since he didn’t know where the
breaker box was in the building. He frowned at that. He had to do something else.

 

He flicked one of his arms at the drum set on stage. It punched through the skin with
a loud pop. The drummer sat back from the sudden breaking. His bandmates looked
around at him. It threw the song off, which threw off the culling of ectoplasm into a
loss.

 

That should keep the audience from having any more adverse reactions while he went
about his business.

 

Strangehold looked around as he made his way to the stage door. He needed to get
behind the scenes. He doubted his enemy was in the kitchen. Too many people would
see what he was doing. Being close to the band and out of sight of anyone not
allowed backstage would be perfect.

 

He walked through the door. Nobody was behind the stage. Where would he set up
to collect ectoplasm from innocent bystanders? He decided to try the ready room for
the band. Nobody was supposed to be there since the band was on stage.

He could try the alley behind the club after the ready room.

 

The doctor cautiously walked to the closed ready room door. He knocked before he
pushed the door open with one of his tentacle hands. Nothing came out of the room
after him.

 

He took a moment to do a quick search. The room had clothes on hangers, a dressing
table to check your look, and cases for instruments. He didn’t see anything that might
be used to collect ectoplasm for later use.

 

How close did the other master have to be for his collection to work? Was there a spot
under the club?

 

He considered that there might be a cellar under the club as he went to the back door.
He needed to make sure his enemy wasn’t outside. Then he could think about
searching the building itself.

 

He hoped he didn’t have to deal with a fully charged menace when he did catch up
with the murderer. That would make things more dangerous than he liked.

 

He sent his sense down the alley to the street. No one lurked in the shadows. He
closed the door and turned his attention to the building. He should clear it, but he had
no idea how to do that other than setting something on fire. That was a last resort in
his opinion.

 

He started searching for a cellar door in the back of the club. He worked his way
across the dining area, ignoring the band. The drummer valiantly tried to make his
part sound like it fit the music they were playing, but the music wasn’t draining
ectoplasm from the people at their tables. The bar and kitchen had to be next. He
doubted the employees wanted him looking around back there.

 

He had to get back there and hope that his idea was right.

 

He waved the bartender over and gestured for him to lean closer. The bartender
frowned at him in a what do you want way.

 

“Do you have a cellar?,” asked Strangehold. 

 

“I don’t know,” said the bartender. “Why?”

 

“My name is Strangehold,” said the doctor. “I’m looking into something for the
police. I was wondering if you had a cellar. I’m looking for a small gas leak.”

 

“I don’t think so,” said the bartender. He glanced over his shoulder at the kitchen.

 

“You don’t think there is a gas leak, or you don’t want to let me look around?,” said
Strangehold.

 

“Both.”

[csyphrett]

Doctor Strangehold, Ectoplasmic Detective 7

1965-

Strangehold felt the urge to let his extra hands talk for him. He pulled them in before
they seized the employee and did something bad to him. He decided he could step
back and figure another route to what he wanted to know.

 

He had time. He could be patient. He doubted someone else would be ripped apart
unless the murderer was personally crossed. He turned from the bar and looked across
the room. No one looked out of place to him.

 

Unless the ectoplasm was going in a storage container somewhere, someone had to
be close by to collect the life force. Either the roof, or a basement, had to be in play.
He could check the roof, and wait for anyone to leave the club when it closed.

 

He could check the basement when no one was around to get in his way. He didn’t
want to hurt someone trying to do a legitimate job and not involved in the crime. He
wanted to save that for someone who deserved what they were about to be handed.

 

The doctor left the club and walked around the outside of the building. He scanned
the skyline from the ground. He didn’t see any warps in the air he associated with
ectoplasm freefloating without a wizard to give it commands.

 

He still needed to check the roof to make sure. Once he had done that, he could wait
for the building to clear. Then he could clear the basement.

 

He knew that he might not find anything. It didn’t take much to move ectoplasm
around. And his quarry might have already got clear when the music stopped playing
at the right frequency to drain the audience.

 

He frowned at his options. He decided that all he could do was eliminate the obvious
until he had something to work on.

 

His four liquidly arms sprouted from his back. He secured handholds and pulled
himself up the side of the building. He stepped on the roof of the Note. No one
readied to fight him for the dominance of living energy.

 

He extended his sense out to cover the roof. He didn’t see any traces of ectoplasm.
He nodded to himself. The raider had decided to set up his gathering point somewhere
else.

 

He needed to check out the basement. If that was clear, he would have to think of
some other place the ectoplasm could be going. Maybe there was a siphon somewhere
outside the club.

 

There had to be something unless it was just floating around and vanishing into the
air.

 

Strangehold didn’t believe that for a second. His quarry had assembled a song to draw
out the living substance of people. No way was he just letting all that dissipate in the
air. You couldn’t get any of it back if you did that, and that did nothing but slowly kill
whomever you drew the ectoplasm from since it was made of people’s inner
workings.

 

The next question after where was the ectoplasm going was why did the man need so
much of it? Why use the club to harvest it? Why not just use a park, or some other
public place with more people to gather more of the stuff?

 

And why kill Crenshaw over it?

 

If he knew that, maybe that would be the key he needed to turn the rest.

 

Strangehold sat on the roof. He closed his eyes. There had to be some trace he could
use. He extended his senses out as far as he could, stretching out over the neighboring
buildings.

 

He felt nothing reaching back to him. He frowned at that. The traces he would
normally feel were absent.

 

Had his enemy cleared all the places around the club with his gathering?

 

Strangehold tried to reach out further with his sense. He couldn’t feel anything at the
edges of his reach. He wondered how far the clear zone reached.

 

How many people were missing their ectoplasm?

 

He let his sense return to his body. He had a puzzle related to the one he was already
investigating. It was too much to say they weren’t caused by the same man.

 

He listened to the air. The patrons of the Note were leaving. Another show was
advertised, but he didn’t know if he had wrecked the song for good, or just for the
night. The band might not be able to play it without a drum to hit the right notes.

 

It would be fortunate for him that he had stopped things for the night. That would
force the brain to reset his scheme, or start somewhere else.

 

He had until the second show to figure out his next move.

 

He decided to drop off the roof and gain another vantage point. Maybe the patrons
would give him something to look for later.

 

Strangehold grabbed his roof with two of his arms and swung out over the street. His
other two arms grabbed the roof of a building on the other side of the road. They
yanked him across to a precise landing away from the rampart.

 

He turned to watch the street. People moved along the sidewalk toward cars parked
in lots, or hailed cabs. He didn’t see anyone with the glow he used as an indicator.

 

He needed to check the basement of the Note. Once he had cleared that, he could start
expanding his search. How did he get pass the staff?

 

He could still wait until after the second show was over and then break in. It wasn’t
heroic, but he didn’t want to hurt people who might not be involved in this. He could
ask Burly to shut the place down long enough for him to look around. That would
cause some friction with the police. He could yank the manager into a dark alley and
ask some pointed questions. That could cause trouble down the line.

 

The man might deserve any beating the doctor desired to hand out.

 

Strangehold shook his head. Middleton wasn’t a frontier town that needed Wyatt Earp
to tame it. It was a quiet place that had survived because of shipping down the local
waters to the Mississippi.

 

It did draw a collection of mages and monsters who wanted to set up shop. This
master of ectoplasm was just the latest to come along with a scheme to build
something that was bound to get out of control and cause problems for the local
populace. The doctor wondered if there was something in the air that enticed the
menaces he dealt with to the city.

 

He supposed he should consult with another mage who could point him to the local
siren of his adversaries so he could think of some way of cutting it off. He wanted his
grandchildren to have safer lives than the one he had lived.

 

Learning to use ectoplasm to prolong your life had not been the expected result of his
experiments. He had wanted to find a way to cure things that no one could then. Now
science had cured some things, and held others in abeyance.

 

When the news had gone out that a doctor had found a cure for smallpox, he had
drank himself stupid for the first and last time.

 

Strangehold checked for how many more were in the club. He could read their energy
thanks to the ectoplasm in the air. A small staff was setting up for the next show. He
could use that to get inside and check the basement under the building.

 

He just had to act like he belonged.

 

He dropped down to the street and crossed to the club. He circled to the back door.
One use of his ectoplasm and he was inside the kitchen and looking around. He
spotted a trap door under a heating cabinet on wheels. He pushed the appliance out
of the way and opened the trap door. He descended down before anyone called for
him to stop.

 

The place could use a light, he thought as he looked around. Glowing lines danced
where he assumed the ectoplasm would be gathered. He frowned at the number of
right angles he could see.

 

So he had the end point for the stolen life from upstairs. Did he stake it out? Did he
destroy it and throw down the gauntlet? Did he want to be a target with his
grandchildren under his roof? Could he make this into some sort of trap to use against
his theoretical rival?

 

He examined the drawing and thought about it. He could reverse the effect. If he did,
he had no idea what would happen to the people upstairs, or the mage.

 

He might supercharge them with the mage’s own supply of ectoplasm. That might
cause side effects in them that included sociopathy and a form of dementia. It might
kill the mage if he lost too much too fast.

 

The case had to be closed for Burly, but the detective could put down accidental death
with the help of the medical examiner. It wouldn’t be the first time they had covered
up something with a cause of death that didn’t quite fit what had happened.

 

Burly would have to come up with connections to Crenshaw’s death, but his own
consultancy would be over as soon as the case was closed.

 

It didn’t matter how the case was closed to the commanders of the law.

 

It didn’t matter to him either as long as he had the right man. There were a few times
where he had made mistakes and almost punished the wrong man or woman for
something they didn’t do. He had been able to correct his mistakes so far, but it had
made him cautious in accusing people, and examining things that could lead more
than one way.

 

He didn’t have a clear picture of his enemy. Anyone could use this ectoplasm gatherer
if they were told how by the person who set it up. He could get a minion and miss the
real villain if he turned it into a trap.

 

On the other hand, minions were just as guilty as their chiefs more often than not.

Strangehold decided the best thing to do was to turn the function of the gatherer off.
That would protect the people upstairs, and it would cause a problem for the maker.
Then maybe they could have a meeting and talk about Crenshaw being ripped apart.

If the person he talked to was the murderer, he figured the talk wouldn’t go as
smoothly as he would like. He would have to deploy his arms and skills against the
giant mask he had observed.

 

Then Burly would have to think of a way to make the charges stick if he could.

That also wouldn’t be the first time they had done that particular misdeed.

 

Modern judges didn’t believe in werewolves except as mental problems for an
unlucky few. Those people belonged in a hospital instead of a jail.

 

Strangehold and Burly disagreed with the sentiment when it was covered in fur and
fangs trying to kill them.

 

The doctor looked up at the trap door over the ladder he had used to get down to the
floor. He didn’t see anyone taking an interest in what he was doing. Maybe the staff
knew better than to intervene in whatever went on below them. They might have been
told they would be exsanguinated if they caused too much of a ruckus.

 

And everybody he knew liked their blood to remain in their bodies.

 

Strangehold used his four ectoplasmic arms to seize various lines he thought were the
center of the floating diagram. He grabbed the air with his real hands and yanked on
the energy like yanking a blanket to him. He watched as the drawing spun around and
parts of it broke off.

 

Let’s see you gather up ectoplasm with that.

 

He hadn’t detected an alarm possibility on the drawing. That didn’t mean anything.
Either the creator knew his spell was closed, partially destroyed, or would check on
it when he didn’t perceive it working. Something would happen soon enough.

 

He had to stay on the job until the club closed at least. He doubted any of the staff had
the skill to set something like the gatherer up. That person would arrive eventually
to deal with his destroyed power source.

 

Some kind of fight would break out as soon as he revealed himself. That was a given.
He needed to be ready to identify the suspect so he could pass the word to Burly and
let the detective do the rest of the work.

 

Either holding the murderer in the basement, or forcing him to expel his reserve of
energy and run, would be a victory in Strangehold’s book. That would force him on
a clock where he had to get things done before his own reserve ran out, but he should
be fine.

 

He had been storing and using ectoplasm for decades. He should have enough to fight
a small war before he had to retreat and restock.

 

Knowing who the enemy was had to be the better thing. If the man got away before
he could be identified, he could just start over somewhere else.

 

Who knew how many would be killed accidentally by another ectoplasm gatherer
draining their life force for someone else to use?

 

Strangehold decided he couldn’t allow that to happen if he had to engage. One of
them had to go down as soon as they closed on each other.

 

This was a small menace at the moment. It couldn’t be allowed to grow into
something bigger.

  

[csyphrett]

Dr. Strangehold, Ectoplasmic Detective 8

1965-


A shadow passed over the opening. Strangehold watched it. He had made a fatal
miscalculation. He was at the bottom of the hidden hole. His enemy was at the top
with one hand on the metal door he had found and opened.

 

He lashed out with his ectoplasmic arms. They couldn’t stop the heavy door from
dropping into place. He pushed on the door, astounded by the extra weight on it. He
remembered the cabinet he had moved earlier to get to the door. That was extra
weight he would have to lift if he wanted to get out of there.

 

He had trapped himself while his enemy could reset without worrying about him
interfering any more. He slapped the wall with his normal hand. He had to do
something to get out before something got in that he didn’t like.

 

He decided that he should see if he could move the cart with an ectoplasmic hand.
That should be enough of a distraction for him to move the thing and open the door
so he could climb out.

 

Strangehold looked up at the closed door. He let the ectoplasm glow to combat the
dark. He had thought he was being so clever. His enemy had probably been in the
kitchen the whole time and took the chance to try to make sure he couldn’t interfere
in his ectoplasm gathering again.

 

This was not going to stop him from doing what he could to prevent any more of the
harvesting.

 

People would die eventually. Someone with a weak body would give up under the
pressure of ectoplasm being forced out of their body. It would look like a heart attack
with some kind of complication. If the music was played long enough, even healthy
people would start dropping dead.

 

The human body was not designed to have its living essence forced out of it for
someone else to use.

 

Strangehold looked up at the door. He needed to get through that and the cart above
it. Then he could try to track down his enemy. How did he do it?

 

He reached up with his glowing arms, looking for cracks. He could push his
ectoplasm through any opening. Then the cart should be easy to move one way or
another. His waxy hands flattened against the seam the ceiling of his cell. He closed
his eyes as he asked for it to spread out. He found a crack that let air through. He
pushed his ectoplasm through that.

 

He felt his hands stretching out on the other side of the door. He felt around until he
felt the cart on top of the door. He pushed the cart as much as he could with his
hands. It rolled out of the way. He grabbed the handle of the door and worked it. A
surge of his arms pushed the door out of the way. He grabbed the edge of the opening
with his four arms and yanked himself through to land on the floor.

 

The crew stared at him. He glared at them. One of them had probably told his quarry
he was waiting below. He could deal with them later. He had to find his murderer
before he got away.

 

He flicked his normal hands to see the traces of people who weren’t there. His spell
locked on someone heading out the back door. He jogged after the moving mist.

 

Strangehold stepped out the back. His marker headed for the street. That was not
good. Traces from other people could dilute his spell. He grimaced as he chased after
it. He hoped the murderer stayed on foot. An enclosed area like a car would cut off
the flow of the trace and stop him dead in his tracks.

 

He thought he could figure something out if that happened.

 

Strangehold walked after his spell. He examined anyone who crossed his path for the
spell to latch on. That would be the man he would have to try to take in for Burly to
question.

 

The line of ectoplasm stretched to a set of stores fronting the sidewalk. They were
short, brick, and had bars over the windows and the glass of the door. The strand
flattened against the door for a woman’s clothing place that was closed for business
at the moment.

 

Why would his ectoplasm farmer go in there? He looked around. The sidewalk had
people coming from the clubs, but no one seemed to be paying attention to him. He
needed to get into the shop and look around.

 

His grandchildren would learn the wrong kind of lessons about burglary if he allowed
them to accompany him on his cases for the police.

 

He saw a shadow moving beyond the glass as he approached. Was that his sasquatch
murderer? Was it a clerk putting things in order for the night? Did he want to wait
until the person came out, or go in while he had the element of surprise?

 

He decided he needed to find out where his farmer had gone beyond the store. If he
had to talk to a clerk, then that was all right. Any clue to what was going on was
better than the morass he was mired in at the moment.

 

He flicked one of his phantom arms and the hand at the end entered the keyhole for
the door. He willed the hand to work the tumblers. The knob turned, the door opened
under the pressure.

 

He pulled his hand free. He couldn’t remember the first time he had broken into some
place. He thought it was long before the city had gone from a small town to a small
city.

 

He looked around before he entered. No one seemed to have noticed what he had
done. He supposed something that looked like a tentacle in the middle of the air
would be disbelieved immediately.

 

That wasn’t his problem at the moment. He stepped inside the shop and closed the
door. He looked around, letting his mental senses pick up anything living. Nothing
fit that bill in the shop.

 

Where did the farmer go when she stepped inside the shop? Why had she come here
in the first place? Was this another of her ectoplasm farms?

 

Strangehold sent out a flash of ectoplasm to see what he could find. His quarry had
gone out the back. He didn’t sense anything strange. He wondered what would
happen if he came back in the daytime.

 

Was the place a farm from the customers that came in to buy clothes? Where was the
collector?

 

He decided to take a closer look after he had tracked his enemy to his lair.

 

Another farm could cause women changing clothes to give part of themselves to
the collector. Storage meant the farmer could come around any time to pick up
the ectoplasm to put in his personal reserve. The problem, like the club, was that
someone weak enough could die from such a taking and not know why.

 

A doctor, or coroner, would put the death down as dehydration, or something related,
and just move on. Ectoplasm extraction would not be on their top ten causes of death
in those cases.

 

Strangehold would not blame them. Without his senses, he would do the same thing.

He went out the back of the shop. His opponent had got away from him while he
was navigating the shop. He sensed another cut off and realized his spell had locked
on again when the other man had come out of the shop, but a car had stopped it
long enough for an escape to be made.

 

What did that leave him?

 

He decided to ask Burly about the women’s clothing store and the Note. Maybe
there was a connection he could put together.

 

He wondered if there was a connection to the victim’s work place.

 

That might get him something to look at once the police had sifted through the
paperwork involved in a business ownership.

 

Before he called Burly and asked for that information, he had to make sure any
collector in the store was broken. That would prevent problems for them while
helping to cripple their enemy.

 

How many other places had been set up with collectors?

 

He put that down as something he would have to look into in the course of the
investigation.

 

Strangehold cast a search with his ectoplasm throughout the shop. He found the
inactive collector in the ceiling, drawn in the wood. He suspected either a knife, or
a phantom limb like he used. It was more permanent than the club’s so he thought that
it had been done first and etched in to gather power passively from the customers.

 

It didn’t matter. It wasn’t an indestructible artifact. That meant he could take it
apart with a pull of his extra arms. He squinted at the drawing. Maybe he could
use this to his advantage.

 

He wondered if Burly would approve of what he was about to do. He decided in
the negative. The policeman would already be upset that he had chased their suspect
and let him get away because he wanted to act alone. Another scheme like this would
not please the sergeant.

 

He decided he should at least call and tell the detective he was curious about who
owned the Note and the women’s clothing shop. Maybe the same person owned
both of them.

 

That might be the connection they needed to wrap the case up and bring in their
culprit.

 

He definitely didn’t want the detective to try to arrest their quarry on his own. There
was no telling how much protection the ectoplasmic disguise gave him with the
additional strength and speed.

 

Strangehold sprouted his limbs as he looked up at the engraving on the ceiling.
He checked every angle with his eye. He nodded to himself that his idea could work.

He used the fingers of his ghost limbs to write his own spell on the collector. He
imposed his will on it to activate it. Then he went to the phone behind the counter.
It was time to update Burly and watch what happened to the shop.

 

He had the feeling that the killer would not wait for his reserves to drop to zero
because of his collector. He would come back to fix things.

 

When he did, the doctor would be waiting to deal with him.

 

Strangehold hoped he came back before the sun came up. He still had to take the kids
to school and teach. He couldn’t watch the shop that whole day to see who tried to
fix the carving.

 

There was another way he could use the drain to his advantage if he hurried.

 

He needed to let Burly know in case he was killed going ahead with his scheme.

 

Strangehold picked up the phone and asked for the sergeant’s home phone from the
operator. He doubted that the detective was still at his desk at this hour. He was either
called away on a case, or at home. Trying home seemed the best bet, then he could
call the station and see if Burly was there.

 

Letting him know about the clothing shop might allow him to tie some bit of
evidence to the murderer without the connection to magic, and the other esoteric
things about the case.

 

He doubted this murderer would be tried in a criminal court. There just wasn’t enough
real evidence for a prosecutor to take to a judge, or a jury, and prove beyond a
reasonable doubt that it was possible to rip a man to pieces.

 

And his finding of the collectors would mean nothing to anyone who didn’t know
how ectoplasm worked.

 

And Strangehold admitted to himself that he didn’t want to sit in court and prove
ectoplasm existed to people who would just dismiss it as some kind of power like the
Rocket, or the Mark.

 

“Burly here,” said the sergeant. “Go ahead.”

 

“I have found something at Fine Looks clothing store,” said Strangehold. “I just need
to know who the owner is, and if they have a connection to the Note.”

 

“Give me the name again,” said Burly. Strangehold did, hearing the scratching of a
pen in the background. “I won’t be able to search the records until tomorrow when
the hall of records opens.”

 

“That’s fine,” said Strangehold. “I just want to know in case I miss. It might be a lead
to the identity of our sasquatch. I have to go. I have some things in the fire, and I need
to put them out.”

 

“Are you at this clothing store,” asked the detective.

 

“I’ll be gone,” said Strangehold. “I’m going to try to execute a trick and see if I can
at least identify our villain. I’ll call if it works.”

 

“What’s the trick?,” asked Burly.

 

“It’s something that only magicians like me can do,” said Strangehold. “I’m trying to
use his own spell against him. If it works, then we might see something.”

 

“Don’t do anything I will have to explain to your grandkids as reckless and foolish,”
said Burly.

 

“There won’t be any explanation necessary,” said Strangehold. “They know how
dangerous this is, and what my will has left them.”

 

“I don’t think that’s my point,” said Burly.

 

“Don’t worry,” said the doctor. “If this works, you will be able to close your case
as an exotic animal attack.”

 

“That’s great,” said Burly.

 

Strangehold hung up with a smile.
 

[csyphrett]

Doctor Strangehold, Ectoplasmic Detective

9

1965-

Doctor Strangehold stepped out of the shop. He looked up into the sky. A line of
ectoplasm led from the shop to the collector’s creator. He smiled. His idea was
working.

 

He wondered how long it would take before the other magician realized that he was
being drained by his own creation.

 

Strangehold decided that it wouldn’t take long. The first symptom would be
something like low blood sugar. Eventually other symptoms would emerge. If the
magician was attuned to his own body, he would realize what was going on and
terminate the line from his end.

 

That was how long he had to find his enemy.

 

Once engaged, whomever had the better control of their ectoplasm would be the
victor in any battle.

 

Strangehold thought he could win. He had fought other magicians, and monsters for
a long time. He should have some tricks the other hadn’t seen before. Still, the
sasquatch mask gave him pause. He couldn’t allow the thing to get close enough to
grab him. That would be the end of the fight.

 

He walked after the line, watching as it kept moving. The other magician must be
heading for a lair, possibly his real home. He might not have noticed the drain on his
resources yet.

 

If he had, he might be preparing a trap of his own to deal with his enemy.

 

The doctor followed the line across town. He wondered where he was going. It
looked to be the same apartment building as his victim. Why? What could possibly
be there for the murderer to come back for? Had he left something on the scene the
police and their consultant had missed?

 

Maybe the victim and his murderer were closer than they had thought.

 

Strangehold didn’t like the fact that he had missed something crucial at the scene. It
meant he was losing his touch. He couldn’t have that.

 

He might have to go back to school to study his forensics again if he was losing his
touch that much.

 

He wondered if his murderer had noticed the drain and was setting a trap for him.

 

That would mean the killer was waiting in the building so he could get the drop and
then rip the doctor apart.

 

It wouldn’t be the first time he had walked into a trap to find out what was really
going on.

 

He wondered how he should approach this. He expected his enemy to think he would
just blunder into whatever trap was set for him and have to give up his ectoplasm to
replace what he had taken.

 

He decided not to call Burly. He didn’t want the sergeant in his way if a full blown
duel broke out. It would be tough enough to explain how he had dealt with a
practitioner on his own. He could not see the detective getting on a stand and saying
they had killed a magician and not be laughed out of court.

 

The method used was already hard to swallow in his opinion.

 

The line cut through Crenshaw’s building and went out the other side. That relieved
Strangehold. That meant they hadn’t missed something in the apartment building
when he did his scans earlier.

 

Where was it taking him?

 

The line extended toward the edge of the city. He frowned. There were some places
out there that had become new force lines because of the construction of more houses.
Some of that was good. Some was bad.

 

What did he do about it?

 

He decided to press on. It was too late to go back and get his car. He wondered if the
other magician regularly used their ectoplasm to travel. Was that another mask he
hadn’t seen yet?

 

He decided it was something to look for when they met. He didn’t want to be on
guard against a giant ape, only to deal with a giant bird.

 

He wondered where the other magician had learned to shape ectoplasm. He had
learned from an old man who had taught him some basic medium type tricks. Then
he had expanded his knowledge, bit by bit. His slowed aging had come out of those
experiments.

 

The same thing might have happened to this magician and this was how he was
learning to be immortal like the doctor.

 

Taking from other people was just faster than growing it from your natural
surroundings.

 

And it killed people if you weren’t careful.

 

He followed the line across town from Crenshaw’s building. He resorted to using his
extra arms to hitch on passing cars and trucks moving in the direction he wanted to
go. He frowned at not going back to grab his car.

 

He found himself walking in a new neighborhood on the edge of Middleton. The
glowing line pointed him to one small house in particular. Then it snapped.

 

He was glad that he hadn’t brought Burly along. If he got into a duel now, protecting
the detective would put him at a disadvantage with an enemy who had an unknown
capability with his spell work. Being alone meant he only had to worry about what
would happen to his grandchildren when he was gone.

 

He decided that he should knock on the door and see who answered it.

 

The other magician probably already knew he was close. Discovering the line meant
he knew about the drain. That meant he knew he had left a trail across the city. That
meant he knew Strangehold was coming.

 

So there was no need to beat around the bush.

 

The doctor decided there was one thing he could do before he went into the lion’s
den. He could let Burly know about the address and that he should look at the owner.

He pulled some of his ectoplasm from his inner reserve and shaped it into a bird. He
nodded at the way it acted like a bird when he held it with his two hands. He
imprinted a message on it. He threw it up in the air and it took flight back toward the
center of Middleton.

 

His messenger would wait for Burly at the police station and tell him about the
address. The rest would be up to him about how he wanted to handle things.

 

This case would never get to court because of the means used. No jury in the world
would believe anything short of a trained bear would do what had been done to
Crenshaw.

 

And any expert worth their salt would be able to prove a bear couldn’t do what had
been done.

 

Strangehold walked up to the door. He noted the brick fronting, white trimmed
windows to show the front room, and the white door glimmering under the starlight.
A carport protected a car with shadows as he drew closer.

 

Two doors and possibly a third behind the house meant he could only see his enemy
from the front and left side. The murderer could slip out the back easily with his
command of ectoplasmic masks.

 

Strangehold thought his presence would be met with violence. The man hadn’t missed
a beat when Crenshaw had come to the door. He wouldn’t with someone on his
doorstep.

 

A bell button glowed in the door frame, but the doctor knocked. He wanted to show
that he wasn’t afraid of the owner.

 

The problem was he was afraid of the owner, and what the owner could do to him if
he wasn’t careful.

 

He knocked again when his first knock wasn’t answered. He wondered what the other
magician was thinking. He listened for movement.

 

He heard steps. They sounded confident to him. The owner wasn’t afraid of someone
showing up in the middle of the night.

 

He wouldn’t be either if he had a seven hundred pound sasquatch to wear to a fight.

The door opened. The owner of the house glared at the doctor. He frowned back. He
stepped back from the threshold.

 

“Miss Raye,” said Strangehold. He had not expected to find Crenshaw’s coworker at
the house.

 

She raised a hand. Wax bubbled from her fingertips down the length of her arm. He
stepped back again as the change worked its way down her body in the blink of an
eye.

 

Strangehold stepped back again, letting his extra arms pop out to defend him. He had
not expected his search to lead to Crenshaw’s coworker, but he knew he was about
to get killed if he didn’t do something.

 

He cursed himself since she was the obvious suspect. He should have known that she
would be the mastermind. He had simply thought the method was more something
you would see in a man.

 

A giant hand came at him. He used his tentacles to grab it and throw the giant mask
into the yard. He couldn’t let her grab him. That would be the end.

 

He needed to run her energy out. That was all he had to do. She couldn’t keep the
mask up for long. He could just sit back and let her power run out while his remained 
active at its normal range.

 

His tentacles barely drew anything off his own reserves.

 

There was a small chance that she could overextend her ability and it could wind up
hurting her. He couldn’t worry about that while she was trying to rip his head off.

That was something to worry about if he survived this encounter.

 

Strangehold used his tentacles to move away from the giant he was facing. They acted

as grapnels, grabbing on to part of the house, or the surrounding greenery and pulling
him out of reach. He concentrated on dancing around his enemy so she couldn’t grab
him.

 

He knew of one way to stop the fight, but he had to get close. He didn’t know if he
wanted to chance that when his initial tactic was wearing her down. He had no idea
if he could execute his tactic before she ripped his arm off. Did he want to risk it?

 

If she escaped, she could go back to farming ectoplasm from people, maybe hunt
Burly down because he knew too much. He couldn’t let that happen.

 

He fired a spread of ectoplasmic buckshot to punch holes in the mask. He frowned
as the wounds healed up in no time. She had a bigger reserve than he had thought.

 

He needed to press her harder. How did he do that? He frowned. He had to grab some
part of the mask with his bare hand. That was the only way things would work out for
him.

 

She leaped at him. He caught her in his tentacles and held her off. She grabbed one
of his limbs and pulled him off his feet. He saw the other hand coming around in a
clawing motion.

 

He held out his hands and caught the massive wrist behind the giant hand and claws.
The sasquatch bore down, trying to reach his face. He grimaced at what he was going
to do.

 

He commanded her ectoplasm to move to him.

 

The mask shrank as he compelled the substance it was made of to move to his reserve.
The face the mask sat on showed dismay through the disguise. Apparently she had
never considered that to be a legitimate move.

 

Maybe she hadn’t learned that ectoplasm shaping was vulnerable to external forces.

 

She pulled her arm out of his grip, replacing the hair and muscle with a shake. She
swung the other arm in a counterswipe. His tentacles tried to trap that arm for
him to grab, but the momentum from the swing sent him to the ground.

 

He held his tentacles up to defend himself as he tried to blink the stars out of his eyes.

 

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” said Raye. Her voice caused her mask
to shake. “But I’m not letting you hold me back. I have an ability, and I am going
to use it to control this city.”

 

She stalked forward to finish him off with a kick, or stomp. Her mind made the
ectoplasm heavy. That made it perfect for imitating the monster she wanted.
Exterminating a rival was not that big a deal compared to her goals.

 

Strangehold looked up at her. Determination had taken over from the earlier stunning.
He clapped his hands together. Dozens of tentacle arms sprouted from his back.
They wrapped around his victim and lifted her off the ground. He ripped the mask
from her body before slinging her against the wall of her house.

 

“I protect this city from monsters,” said Strangehold. “It doesn’t matter if they
are human, or not.”

 

He got to his feet, dusting off his jacket and pants. He added the mask’s ectoplasm
to his own. He walked forward.

 

“It doesn’t matter why you decided to endanger people to farm their lives, or why you
killed your pawn,” said Strangehold. “All that matters is stopping your threat to
anybody else.”

 

His tentacles struck out.
310411/689589

[csyphrett]

 

Doctor Strangehold, Ectoplasmic Detective 10

1965-

Sergeant Roscoe Burly nodded at the attendant at the desk as he walked inside.
He hated hospitals, and he hated asylums more than that. He didn’t know why the
doc had called him down to the place, but figured there was a reason.

 

“Thank you for coming down, Sergeant,” said Strangehold. He appeared at
the door leading deeper inside the building. “I have something to show you
after we talk.”

 

“The clothing store, the Note, and the other place all belong to Foot Enterprises,” said
Burly. “I’m still trying to find the owner. The company owns a few other places in
town.”

 

“The owner is probably Lisa Raye,” said Strangehold. He indicated they should use
an office for their talk. He closed the door. He sat behind the desk, inspecting it as he
thought about what he wanted to say. “She probably owns a piece of the printing
company too. I don’t know if her supposed bosses know that.”

 

“How do you know this?,” asked Burly. He sat on the edge of the visitor’s chair. He
pulled out his notebook.

 

“I confronted Miss Raye at her home,” said Strangehold. “I found paperwork
afterwards, but I don’t have the expertise to trace it like you, or an accountant would
be able to do. Some of the papers were certifications of money flowing from the
printing company to her pockets.”

 

“How do I justify checking into that?,” asked Burly.

 

“I don’t think you will be able to since Miss Raye has not given you probable cause
to probe her finances,” said Strangehold.

 

“So what are doing here?,” asked Burly.

 

“I’m going to lay out what I know, and what I speculated happened,” said
Strangehold. “I don’t think you will be able to use it, but you should know what
I think happened.”

 

“Does this have something to do with that empty house your magic bird asked
me to go to yesterday?,” asked Burly.

 

“I’m getting to that,” said Strangehold. The magician leaned back in his chair. “This
is going to take a bit so let’s start with the murder method.”

 

He held a hand over the desk. A blob of buttery light dropped from the palm of his
hand. It became a miniature of what it had looked like ripping Allan Crenshaw apart
in his apartment.

 

“This is a replica of the mask Lisa Raye used to kill Crenshaw,” said Strangehold.
“You could never get a conviction as long as she didn’t use it in front of witnesses.”

 

“I’ll give you that,” said Burly. “I would look like a nutter.”

 

“She didn’t use it all the time when she needed to kill someone, just in a few special
cases when she cared about the victim being tied back to her in some way,” said
Strangehold. He made a gesture. The model jumped back in his hand with a slurping
sound. “It’s effectively strange enough to make most policemen not try to chase
down something that can rip a man apart in seconds.”

 

“So why did she kill Crenshaw?,” asked Burly.

 

“That goes with her second scheme,” said Strangehold. “She was farming ectoplasm
for her personal use. Crenshaw helped her with it, by helping her perfect the
song that she gave to other musicians to play in her club. Everyone listening to the
song would give up part of themselves without realizing it. She had a collector set up
under the club to catch the ectoplasm to be absorbed later. It was the same thing with
the clothing store. An ectoplasm collector took life force from women trying on

clothes for her to use later.”

 

“What was the first scheme?,” asked Burly.

 

“She was using the proceeds from her businesses to buy more businesses to buy more
businesses,” said the doctor. “Anyone who got in the way got a visit from her special
friend.”

 

“So if I look around, I should find a trail of ripped up by animal attack bodies?,”
asked Burly.

 

“Probably,” said Strangehold. “So Miss Raye has two plans in motion.

 

“The first plan was to accumulate businesses with her mask as her enforcer. The
people she threatened would never come forward to report a monster threatening them
over property they owned. Only people like us would believe them.

 

“The second plan was to accumulate ectoplasm from others to keep making her mask
more powerful. The more she could take, the bigger it would be. I have no idea if
she could do anything more than those two spells, but their combination was bad
enough.”

 

“Okay,” said Burly. “The house?”

 

“It’s Miss Raye’s house,” said Strangehold. “She inherited it from her parents. They
are still in their bedroom whenever you want to collect the bodies.”

 

“Really?,” asked Burly. “Why?”

 

“She might have been trying to bring them back to life,” said the doctor. “She might
have even been summoning them through her control of ectoplasm from wherever
their spirit life had taken them.”

 

“I think you’re pulling my leg,” said the detective. “How exactly could she summon
them?”

 

“Summoning them might be too strong a word,” said Strangehold. “There are people
out there who can really tap into the afterlives of the dead. Ectoplasmic mediums
can usually only deal with memories of the dead. We take a memory and some
ectoplasm and make a facsimile of the dead person. It may look and act like the dead
person but it isn’t the real person.”

 

“She might have thought they were her dead parents?,” asked Burly.

 

“Possibly,” said the doctor. “What she was doing was playing roulette with the lives
of the people she was farming. Any of them could have died from the ectoplasm
being forced out of them because it’s part of their life force.”

 

“And we couldn’t prosecute her for that,” said Burly. He was well aware of what
people would believe. He would have a better chance of suggesting Lisa Raye had
poisoned a large group of people with some unknown substance than saying she was
sucking people’s souls out of their bodies.

 

“You could if you could prove ectoplasm existed to the satisfaction of the court,
and proved that Miss Raye knew how to harvest it, and was harvesting it in some
way,” said Strangehold. “I could demonstrate my own talents as part of that effort.
My inclination is that everything would be written off as some kind of trickery.”

 

“I can’t disagree with that,” said Burly. “The district attorney would laugh me out of
the room, and ask for my badge.”

 

“Most of this I found out from a search that I shouldn’t have conducted,” said
Strangehold. “The prosecutors might have problems with any evidence presented, and
then the strange nature of the evidence itself would not give us any favors.”

 

“So what does that leave us?,” asked Burly. “From where I’m sitting, she’s going to
walk.”

 

“That’s the other reason I called you down here, Sergeant,” said Strangehold.

 

“All right,” said Burly. “What did you do?”

 

“I tracked Miss Raye down from the clothing store, we exchanged blows, and I was
obliged to bring her here until her trial,” the doctor said. “Since we agreed there was
no way for her to stand trial, I have signed her in under another name for treatment
to help her need to not kill people.”

 

“She’s here?,” asked Burly.

 

“I placed her here,” said Strangehold. “When she recovers, she will be able to leave.
But we won’t be able to prosecute her for her crimes unless you can dig up something
in her financial chicanery.”

 

“I can ask some financial people to go over it, but I don’t know,” said Burly. “You
said you tracked her down. What happened?”

 

“We engaged in a duel, and I defeated her,” said Strangehold. “Then I removed
her ability to use her magic. She will have to resort to more mundane means from
now on.”

 

“Can you really do that?,” asked Burly.

 

“This particular brand of magic, yes,” said Strangehold. “There are other teachings.
If she finds one of those, she could go back into business killing and looting.”

 

“How long will she be in here?,” asked Burly.

 

“I don’t know,” said Strangehold. “It depends on how long it will take for her to
recover, and hide her true self. Some years maybe. It’s been a long time since I have
done anything this horrible to another person. It is a fate worse than death in some
circles.”

 

“I can see that I guess,” said Burly. “Like losing your legs.”

 

“Like being blinded and deafened,” Strangehold said. “But essentially yes, that is
what I did.”

 

“All right,” said Burly. “This is a violation of several laws, and the Constitution. I
don’t see any way around that.”

 

“Right now, Miss Raye is undergoing psychiatric evaluation for fitness to be released
back into society,” said Strangehold. “Her businesses will keep depositing money
into her accounts until they are closed, or she walks out of here and closes them.
All of her magical dealings can’t be prosecuted, and as the loser of a magical duel,
she should be dead, or worse. I am hoping to take the least harmful road for her,
and society at large.”

 

“But you think she will still engage in criminal activity once she is released,” said
Burly.

 

“She trained her magic to do what she wanted, not the other way around,” said
Strangehold. “That means all the people she killed would still be dead, just not by
the weird means she used.”

 

“I’ll close the case as a weird animal attack,” said Burly. “I would like it more if she
was standing trial and we could prove all of this.”

 

“No one is going to believe this woman killed people with her mind,” said
Strangehold. “Even with powers out there such as the Mark, our society is not ready
to accept that people will stay in the shadows and kill without trying to build up their
ego by announcing things. If she had thrown on a costume and killed Crenshaw in
broad daylight in front of witnesses, then we could make that case against her. This
way we have nothing, and despite her initiating the duel, it will still be my word
against hers in a court. That wouldn’t be enough.”

 

“And you would look bad saying a woman was a witch,” said Burly. “Nobody
believes that any more.”

 

“Exactly,” said Strangehold. “There are two problems with the way I did things,
other than the legality.”

 

“Go ahead,” said Burly. “The illegality is bad enough.”

 

“Miss Raye had to have been taught by someone else,” said Strangehold. “That
person might take an interest in Middleton after this. That could lead to unknown
problems in the future.”

 

“So we might have some more monster activity in the future,” said Burly. “That’s
great.”

 

“And it will be directed at me, or us, if you are thought to have anything to do with
this,” said Strangehold. “So do your routine, and then cover up what you know as best
you can.”

 

“What’s the other problem?,” said Burly.

 

“Miss Raye will remember me,” said Strangehold. “She might remember you. When
she is released, she might decide to kill the both of us over what happened to her.”

 

“But she will be powerless,” said Burly. “She will be powerless, right?”

 

“She will be more than capable of buying weapons to try to kill us,” said Strangehold.
“It will have to be something to watch for when she is released.”

 

“So what is the good that has come out of this extraordinarily bad situation?,” asked
Burly.

 

“A threat has been removed,” said Strangehold. “No one will die accidentally due to
our suspect’s callousness to other people’s lives. And if I hadn’t found her, the threat
to our own lives would have escalated if we had got close to what she was doing.”

 

“So what am I doing here?,” said Burly.

 

“This is her file and new name,” said Strangehold. He handed over an envelope from
a drawer in the desk he sat behind. “You might need that if you want some warning
when she’s released.”

 

“So you can’t keep her in here forever?,” asked Burly. He made a note of the name
in the file before sliding it back.

 

“Wrecking her schemes and making sure she can’t bring her parents back to life as
soul sucking abominations will have to be the measure of success for this,” said
Strangehold. “You might want to give the skeletons a proper burial under aliases
when you can get the time.”

 

“I’ll get right on that,” said the sergeant.